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girlsworldillusion · 3 months ago

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Scream for me little lamb (FINAL PART)

PART ONE HERE

Ghostface!Aemond x Fem!Reader

Summary: You don't know him, you haven't even seen him before. Yet this cruel killer is in your mind, entangled like a parasite. For just one night you want to get rid of this feeling - to get rid of him. What could possibly go wrong after all?

Rated: Explicit (+18)

Word count: 15k (fuck, that's it, I'm physically incapable of writing something succinct)

Author's Note: This story contains themes that may be disturbing or triggering for some, such as: DETAILED DESCRIPTIONS OF PANIC ATTACKS, BLOOD, MURDER, OBSESSIVE BEHAVIOR, THREATS, AND ROUGH SEX. Your health (mental and physical) should always be your priority, if any of these themes are too heavy for you to handle I beg that you ignore this post.

Please do not mistake this for a love story. The reader clearly suffers from a serious level of emotional instability and the abuser takes advantage of this fragility to threaten and use her. This is NOT healthy and NOT romantic in any way and I obviously do NOT agree with this attitude in real life. This is just a FICTIONAL HISTORY and it is only in this context that something like this can be tolerated. The tags are all there however and if you do not feel comfortable reading something like this, there is no need to leave any derogatory comments. JUST DON'T READ IT.

To those who stay, enjoy reading!

English is not my first language, I apologize for any mistakes you may find.

In the previous chapter:

And then the masked figure takes a casual step into the bathroom, the easy confidence in this simple act foreshadowing his ease in overpowering his victims. You swallow hard, backing away slowly as you lock eyes with the killer’s empty holes. The knowledge that there is no way out of the room is painfully obvious to you. The man takes up the entire space of the exit; the width of his shoulders stretching almost from one side of the doorframe to the other, his long legs slightly apart to fill any gaps.

The only way out of here was if you stepped over him; and that wasn’t going to happen.

----

The hairs on the back of your neck stand on end as your head tilts down discreetly. Submission. It’s instinctive, really. Your body knows what this man is capable of, remembers the brutal, bloody state his victims were found in. You don’t want that fate for yourself.

He hums at that, pleased with your pliant reaction - and you blush at the raw humiliation of feeling so inferior to someone else.

“So good, sweetie.”

He sighs ecstatically, pushing the two of you deep into the bathroom just enough to close the door, the click of the key locking it sounding purposefully loud. You feel the shape of an invisible hand holding your beating heart between its fingers, your breath coming in shallow huffs through your lips. He’s locked you in here, with him.

How did this happen? How did you, probably the only person who was actually taking this whole police alert about a serial killer on the loose seriously, end up here? How the hell is this possible, God?

Your phone vibrates from where it's on the floor and you jump in fright, the screen facing down doesn't allow you to see who's calling when you look at it. But it doesn't matter. You immediately look up at the man, see how he understands what you're going to do before it even happens; his ghostly face tilts toward the ceiling, an almost disappointed sigh sounding from beneath the mask.

"I praised you too soon, right?"

It turns out that if showing their fragile parts to a predator seeking mercy and lowering the head in submission is a natural primal instinct when there's seemingly no escape, then it's also a natural instinct to act immediately when a glimmer of hope and survival appears.

And your phone ringing is a glimmer of hope.

You dive to where it lies with your heart racing, desperate for the opportunity to warn someone of your situation and get help. But your fingers barely graze the object before a large hand grabs a fistful of hair at the back of your head, holding you in place before you can reach it.

On your knees on the bathroom tile, you’re thrashing hysterically in his iron grip, ugly sobs of pain escaping your lips with each rough tug at the roots of your hair.

“No! Let me go, please! HELP!” You scream as loud as you can, hoping it’s enough to alert someone outside, even though the obnoxiously loud music downstairs limits your chances to almost zero. You barely register the heavy thud of the knife hitting the floor as you open your mouth to scream louder, your voice muffled by another heavy hand slamming into your mouth, the leather of his glove squeezing your lips and cheeks until they hurt.

He lifts you to your feet with just his grip on your hair, your scream of agony once again muffled by his gloved fingers. The man doesn't let you go even when he reaches the bathroom sink, where he practically throws you against the counter, your hip bones jarring sharply with the impact. You slip a little in pain, shaking hands gripping his wrist as you claw desperately to make him release your mouth, staring in horror at the shadowy figure behind your body.

Your heartbeat is roaring loudly in your ears as you cease the attack and stare at the dark, empty eyes of the mask in the mirror, his body against yours.

The indigo lighting makes his presence even more sinister, shadowing a tall, frightening silhouette looming over you like a mythological god of death, dressed all in black. Except, of course, for his bizarre mask with sunken, innocuous eyes, like black holes etched in an agonized expression, the mouth dark and open in an eternal silent scream. The material of the mask is so white that it contrasts exaggeratedly against the black background covering his body, even in the violet light of the bathroom. Over his head he wears a wide hood that frames his mask and gathers around the long line of his strong shoulders like an ominous shawl, followed below by a kind of ragged-looking tunic, long sleeves on each arm, a subtle tightening around his waist, deliberately highlighting the defined plane of his abdomen. Below his waist, the tunic continues flowing to his ankles, with an opening running the length of each leg clad in trousers - to allow ease of movement, you presume. He needs agility to stalk students and kill them mercilessly, after all. To finish off the somber look, he wears military boots on his feet, intricate lines of laces running the length of them.

"How about you and I play a little game?" He asks close to your ear, white mask poking the side of your face, empty eyes staring at your reflection in the mirror. You struggle to breathe between the gaps of his fingers on your face, your eyes growing moist as the desperate situation truly sinks in.

"A really fun little game called 'don't scream when I let go of your mouth and in return I won't decorate the floor with your entrails'. How does that sound?" The way he says it, casual and easy, rivals the cruel grip on your hair, or the way his fingers press into the flesh of your cheeks until you squeal in pain.

The smell of blood surrounds you again, the same metallic, damp smell you felt when you were near the dripping knife he had between his fingers, and your senses seem to be heightened by the adrenaline flooding your veins. It takes a few seconds for you to realize that the smell is coming from him this time. From his clothes, you notice, as if the slimy stuff had been splattered across much of the shadowy fabric covering his body. And it was. You know it was.

Who was the victim tonight? Who was stabbed so brutally that their blood splattered like ketchup all over this monster’s clothes?

Would you suffer the same fate?

“I asked you a question, princess. Do you want to play with me or not?” He presses, a hint of impatience in his voice, the already crushing grip on your scalp tightening even more.

You nod as best you can at the restraint of his fingers in your hair and mouth, pretending you actually have some say in this, salty tears sliding down your waterline with the shaky movement.

“Good girl.”

He laughs close to your ear, a low, dark — but happy — tremor. He’s enjoying himself, basking in the satisfaction of your scared, teary expression. He’s insane.

“That’s it, love, isn’t it so much easier this way?” He purrs as he loosens his grip on your mouth, the back of his index finger massaging your cheek as you practically choke on the breath that vibrates too raggedly through your newly freed lips. He towers over you, watches you in the mirror with predatory focus - sees you struggle to keep yourself together, fresh tears dripping from your lower lashes, wetting the leather of the glove on his finger. “Mmm, you look so good like this, it makes me so fucking hard to see your tears fall for me.”

“Oh my God…” you choke, absolutely terrified at the man’s sickening sincerity, your eyes wide and wet, face to face with the singular reason for your nightmares.

“Shh,” he takes a step closer to you, pinning you even tighter against the sink counter and his body, letting you feel the undeniable truth in his earlier statement — the thick tent in his pants digging into your lower back until you whimper out a sharp sound, “calm down, baby. Don’t do anything stupid now.”

You find yourself subtly wilting at the dangerous warning, though more out of sheer horror than subservience.

“A-are you going to kill me?” Your voice cracks at the end, scared and shrill; the sound of someone truly cornered — a little mouse caught in a cruel glue trap, just awaiting its inevitable end.

“Now, that wouldn't be fun, would it?” he pretends to ponder, his gloved fingertip drumming over your jaw now, down to your cheek, and you’re shaking so hard you think you might be shaking his body along with yours. “Oh no, I could never kill you. Hurt you? Yeah, maybe. But killing my little girl? That's a big nope to me.”

If he thought that would bring you any comfort, then he was sorely mistaken.

He grabs your face before you can properly react to his frightening words, his large, strong hand barely needing to exert much effort to do so, eclipsing your delicate features with his long fingers, the endless darkness of the glove contrasting with your skin. He squeezes your cheeks together until your lips purse into a fishy pout, forces your jaw up so you meet the blank stare of his mask in the mirror - and all you can do is cringe under his dangerous aura.

“Look at that, aren’t you the cutest little thing?”

You definitely don’t like the tone he uses, the easygoing, smug way he holds himself above you; as if he knows there’s absolutely nothing you can do to free yourself from his grasp, completely at his mercy. Chest thrusting into you, muscular thighs encasing your hips, hips pressed against your ass; keeping you in place. You try to claw at his wrist again, just to confirm the horrifying fact that no, he’s not going anywhere.

The grip on your cheeks loosens as he slides his hand to your throat, gloved fingers curling to rest over the hysterically pulsing vessels on either side, completely encircling the slender column of your neck with elongated digits like spider legs. He doesn’t apply any real pressure, but he doesn’t need to. He doesn’t need to. As he holds your gaze in the reflection with those cold, dark circles of his ghostly mask, the threat of his vast capacity for violence hangs as heavily as he does over your body.

He could rip you apart, right here and now. He could sink his sharp teeth into your neck like a dog would a chew toy, shaking your stuffed body between his jaws until only foam and patches remain.

The paralyzing fear is an increasingly real sensation in your chest, the cold curtain of numbness lifting on your skin and you swallow hard, your throat working under his fingers. Your heart pounds violently, so hard you can feel it in your ears, in your skull. Your eyes flutter in the mirror and your breath is just a broken whistle between your lips. He's pushing you straight into what will be a second episode in the same night, an unprecedented feat in your life - as fucked up as it has been so far.

"W-wait, please I-" You gasp, pulling at his grip messily, already feeling the spiral of panic wrapping around your thoughts like a vise, the claustrophobic noose that is the feeling of total inability to control yourself tightening around your throat.

"Cut that shit, little girl." Your tormentor breathes close to your ear, firm and authoritative, almost sullen as he stares into your terrified eyes in the mirror, his fingers on your throat squeezing slightly - just enough to make you feel it. "You're staying here with me, understand? It was cute the first time, but I don't want to hear about that shit now. I have much more interesting things to do with you than watch that pretty little head go somewhere I can't reach it. Yeah, I'm a selfish guy like that."

He finishes with a dry laugh and you don't know what's worse; his complete disrespect in describing your very real and very traumatic panic attack as something 'cute' or his incorrect assumption that you had a choice in this - that you could simply stop it from happening.

The grip on your throat is tighter now, your breathing becoming severely labored. His hand wraps around your throat and presses hard enough to make you struggle to breathe. You buck and push, running on pure instinct even though your efforts are restrained by his strength, the blood on his black robes spreading across your body like an artist’s brushstrokes in movement.

The notion that this man killed someone before coming to you is there once more, even more prominent now, pounding in your head like blows from a hammer.

“Relax, damn it, or I’ll make you.” He continues his unreasonable demand, squeezing his grip to press you against his chest until you feel every heated inch of him against your body, especially the disturbing way the thick line of his cock inevitably pushes and presses into your lower back with each sharp breath.

You want to scream at him and tell him that what he’s doing is the complete opposite of encouraging you to relax. But anxiety courses through your veins and your eyes close, spilling salty tears. You see grotesque shadows and demons you never thought you would see behind the darkness of your eyelids. It suffocates you, terrifies you, makes you tremble. You can’t move, you can’t escape, you can’t even open your eyes; you can only feel. Your heart is about to explode. You can’t hear anything. Your head hurts and your mind starts to shut down. That’s it, you’re falling again.

And then you feel your body shaking uncontrollably, something crawling under your skin like a lazy parasite. It’s not bad and that’s the first warning sign. Your temporarily inert mind, shut down for God knows how long, restarts with a slow trickle, your breathing becoming a little less hyperventilating and more...warm? However, you can’t force yourself to open your eyes yet, you can’t hear anything around you, you can’t even deduce what’s happening beyond the dark barrier of your closed eyelids. You feel strangely calmer, but filled to the brim with confused apprehension.

You shiver as the strange sensation comes on stronger, sticky molasses coursing through your veins, warming your belly to bring your mind back to reality.

Brought back....

When your eyes open, lethargic and sleepy, tears still blur your hazy vision until you can stare once more at the killer's ghostly mask.

“Welcome back, princess…” The tall man speaks and even hidden under the mask you know he’s smiling. His upper body is hunched over, wrapping your body in a sort of unwanted intimate cocoon. One of his arms is around your torso, keeping both of your arms firmly attached to your sides as if you were a Barbie doll, his other arm stretched down, beyond the visible limits of the mirror. You try to cast your eyes down to see where his hand is, a bad feeling in your chest, but your vision is fuzzy, swimming in dizziness and inconstancy. The threat of a second episode has drained the little strength that was left in your body.

You might even feel compelled to show gratitude for having escaped the oppressive spiral of a new crisis before it reached critical levels. Except something doesn’t feel right.

“W-what?” You ask in a thin voice, your head spinning with tiredness, your body kept upright only by the sink counter and the pressure the man exerts on your back. Feels wrong. You feel like you’re going to throw up at any moment. Your body is begging you to lie down and take a nap for an entire year. It’s a different kind of hysteria, you realize, like you’ve escaped one panic attack only to fall into another completely different one.

Heavy breaths rush from your mouth and your tongue feels sticky and dry as you try to swallow, squinting back into the mirror, trying to piece together the fragmented pieces of information in front of you to make sense of what’s happening.

He’s looking at you too. Even hidden beneath that mask, you feel his gaze burning into your reflection, drinking in the drunken confusion etched on your face, the fear — the shiver of unwanted pleasure that rips through your body like an invisible knife.

What’s happening?

You want to scream.

As you gaze up at him from beneath damp lashes, the burning sensation in your body seems to creep upon itself, gradually merging with the nerves in your belly as something warm and syrupy — needy — pulses deep in your core.

“That’s it, baby. See how much relaxed you are now?” He purrs with lazy irony, savoring each syllable on his tongue like an addictive candy. “Of course you did, the baby just needed something different to focus that little head of her on.”

There’s a gentle but rhythmic swaying of the muscles along his arm, you notice with your eyes locked on the mirror, a disturbingly familiar movement — and a shiver of wet pleasure licks up your spine as you squint, a very instinctive, primal part of your brain finally breaking through the hazy fog to scream that it knows exactly where his hand is.

Your awareness of the world around you returns like a punch to the gut, painful and suffocating, as you feel the leather of his glove between your legs.

"N-no! No, please, I don't want to-" You stammer, tired and scared beyond belief, struggling to escape the man, but his grip around you is like a heavy chain, his arm still keeping yours locked tightly at your sides.

This man has somehow managed to rescue you from a traumatic encounter with your own demons, only to plunge you into a different kind of terror - one even more agonizing.

Your sobbed protests mean nothing in the face of the killer's sick desires, as he languidly slides two of his fingers in a V around your clit, up and down. A shiver runs through you, your thighs instinctively clenching around his hand, a reaction that in turn elicits an amused chuckle from the man.

You shake and beg louder as he continues to rub your pussy, his hand writhing inside the tiny shorts you wear under your costume skirt, ignoring your breathy sobs and whimpers as if you were just a cute, whiny puppy. You shiver, your inner walls clenching around nothing with each lick of his fingers around your clit, reacting against your will to his teasing touches.

A haze of fear and pleasure takes over your mind as you shake your head, struggling to breathe through your nose to keep from passing out. It all feels too much and yet not enough, your hands twitching nonstop where they’re held, your body shaking from head to toe. Your blood runs thick as you stare at him in the mirror, begging in a way. Trying to say anything, since your voice doesn’t even seem to work with the overwhelming wave of feelings coursing through you. Your lips just part, nothing but a wordless plea.

“Oh, poor girl, don’t struggle so much…just relax, I’ll take such good care of you. Don’t worry your pretty little head about anything but staying there and being soft and pretty for me. Let me think of everything else.” He sings condescendingly, the elongated tip of the ghostly mask’s chin appearing in your line of vision as he rests his jaw on your shoulder, the material of the hood brushing against the side of your flushed face.

His scent is enveloping you like a chokehold now; rich, clotted blood, running red and still warm on his clothing — which is now permanently stained on your costume as well, to your horror. But beneath all that disturbing scent of wet iron, there are also notes of crackling, mossy sandalwood and something fresh, citrusy like lemons or bergamots.

If it weren’t for the blood trying so hard to overwhelm everything else, his scent would be pleasant, your clouded mind realizes, seductive even.

The sight before you is breathtaking, to say the least - and not in a pleasant way.

A pathetic, broken little girl is crying, her cheeks red and streaked with tears, her eyes drunk and her brows furrowed in anguish. On her body she wears a foolish Sailor Mars costume that barely covers her body, a stupid thing she didn't even want to wear in the first place, the fabric of the red skirt draped in front of her thighs swaying suggestively, right where the hand of the man behind her remains hidden. The man in question, a vicious killer highly wanted by the police, covers her almost completely with his tall frame and black robes - a stark contrast to the girl's almost childish outfit. The white mask on his face rests on her shoulder, his long arm caging her small body close to his, touching every part he can reach as he squeezes and caresses her as if he would die without it. It's almost romantic, in theory, but horrifying and frightening when you know what's really happening.

You shake your head, squeezing your eyes shut, refusing to look down and confirm what your nerves and body already know all too well is happening. Fear grips your throat so tightly that you shake like a leaf, tears streaming from your eyes as you feel his first finger delve inside you.

It should hurt. The rough material of the glove in direct contact with such an entirely sensitive part of your body should be uncomfortable, at the very least. But it isn’t. There’s something aiding your endeavor, your hindbrain adds as his finger sinks in all the way to the first knuckle with just a little pressure from his wrist. There’s something sticky and thick there along with his finger, messing with your folds with humiliating sounds — spit, probably.

“Please…stop—” you cry, squeezing your eyes shut so tightly you swear constellations explode in the darkness of your eyelids.

“You know,” he begins, ignoring your foolish plea, impatient as he pushes his finger the rest of the way into your trembling, clenching walls until you squeak out a sob, body tensing like a bow beneath his. “There’s a look on people’s faces that I meet. A hysterical, helpless look when they realize that this is the end for them. No matter how much they’ve resisted and fought, they all get that look when the time comes. It’s not exactly a look of begging for mercy. No, they’re usually past that point at this moment.” His chuckle is nothing short of disturbing near your ear, the arm around your waist rising so that he can grab a thick fistful of your hair between his fingers and squeeze until you cry out loudly at the sharp pain and open your eyes, obeying his silent demand to face him once more through the mirror.

“No, it’s not a plea for mercy, sweetie. It’s just a anguished conformity, you know? A part of them even wants to hold out longer, out of instinct I guess, but deep down they know it’s useless. They just know it’s over for them. And that’s when that look appears.”

Your breath hitches visibly as he slides a second finger alongside the first.

“It’s the same look you have now. That look of pure agony and submission on your face, all because you just know you can’t escape me...mmm,” He’s closer than ever, rubbing the mask on the side of your face, and all you can think is that he’s right. As much as your body tells you to run, you know there’s no way you can outrun him, he’s unfortunately more capable than you in every way that matters right now.

He presses himself even closer to your body, his voice slurred in your ear.

“You make me so fucking horny, baby.”

He’s not slow, much less gentle when he moves his fingers inside you. He fucks you with them seriously from the first few seconds, curling them each time he sinks back into your heat, your walls clenching around him, warring to adjust to the unexpected assault. Your cries of pain are interrupted by small involuntary moans and gasps every time he presses too deep inside you, finding a spot that makes you dizzy, held only by his painful grip on your hair. You bite your lip, struggling to keep the noises inside.

He makes a grunting sound, tongue clicking disapprovingly beneath his mask.

“None of that, princess. Let me hear those beautiful sounds. They’re there because of me, I cultivated them...they’re all mine.” Your head falls back on his shoulder as he suddenly moves his hand down your clavicle, long fingers pushing aside the fluffy purple lace of your costume to grip one of your breasts tightly. “You’re all mine.” Even over the fabric of your clothes, his grip on your breast is possessive, and you wish your arms would fight back when he starts dragging his palm across your nipple, prickling it until it becomes a sensitive little peak. But all you can do is lift your hands to rest them on the counter, your head still thrown back against his chest.

“Fuck,” he groans, his thumb now rubbing against the nub of your nipple with small flicks that send a jolt of pleasure straight between your legs. “I knew you’d be perfect. So pathetic to me, baby. You feel so good…”

You squeeze your eyes shut, a muffled sob escaping your lips as he pushes your body forward, making you arch into the counter, his larger body pressed against your back, his hands still glued to their respective places. He curls his fingers into your pussy, a small moan leaving you, and begins to pound against your back. He keeps you bent over as he thrusts his clothed cock between your ass cheeks, each rough thrust pushing another inch of your skirt up your hips.

“Spread your legs for me,” he pants next to your ear. When you tense and don’t comply immediately, the hand on your breast squeezes so hard it actually hurts. “Are you going to make me repeat myself, princess? Every second you make me wait, I get more impatient. Are you sure you want to see me impatient?”

You quickly part your legs, the action causing his fingers to dig deeper between your swollen walls with each hard thrust, wet sounds sounding too loud in the cramped bathroom. His hips move against your back in rough motions, grinding up and down, causing heat to spread throughout your body until your head is spinning, broken sounds leaving your lips. The gummy walls of your pussy contract around his fingers and he growls as he ravages your body like it belongs to him.

You feel good and horrible.

Blood on fire, nerves on fire, you breathe as a way to steady yourself in this moment of maddening agony. You are uncomfortable in every way possible in the given situation, and oh how it fills the void in your soul with something...alive.

Here, at the mercy of this killer's cruel hands, you feel alive for the first time in what feels like forever. It's horrible and unwelcome and scary as hell, but it's also absolutely electrifying.

How fucked up is your mind anyway?

The man continues to grind into your ass with every heated inch of his cock, the movement of his fingers in your pussy quickening, the heel of his gloved hand rubbing relentlessly against your clit in this position. The hand on your breast doesn't stop teasing your nipple, poking and pinching. With every noise he pulls from you, his movement becomes faster, hips matching the rhythm of his fingers in your intimacy. As if you were egging him on. You whimper, squeezing him so hard you could tell you were trying to keep him out, but the action only serves to heighten the sickening pleasure coiling in your stomach.

“Shit,” he hisses, thrusting his fingers in and out, in and out, watching in the mirror as your face contorts with pleasure. “So good. Feeling so good to me. You squeeze my fingers so hard, princess. Fuck. That’s my good fucking girl, yeah?”

Admittedly someone with a blatant emotional inability to accept any kind of compliment — especially one from a fucking serial killer who’s currently keeping you impaled on his fingers while grinding his cock into your ass and making you cry like he’s getting paid to — you slump your shoulders and pant, staring wide-eyed at the man, your rapid breathing fogging the glass of the mirror. His words sink into your bones, stoking the rising heat in your abdomen, and your pussy clenches around his fingers again. He lets out a short laugh, rubbing his masked face against your burning cheek.

“Do you like that, you filthy slut? Do you like when I tell you how good you feel? Hell, you’re fucking squeezing me. Your pretty little pussy wants me so bad.”

Your eyelashes flutter and your breathing becomes more ragged; fear, pleasure, and pain combine into one intense experience, and you realize with horror that you’re approaching orgasm. It’s humiliating, but it doesn’t stop you from tentatively moving your own hips against his palm, seeking more friction on your little clit as heated tears roll down your cheeks.

‘No, no, no, please.’ You whimper to yourself, eyes nearly rolling into the back of the head as you arch your ass into his hips in involuntary response to the inescapable, frenzied sensation coursing through your body.

“The poor baby’s gonna cum.” He chuckles, though his own voice is breathy, wild. “Yeah, gonna make a fucking mess of that pussy and get it all nice and wet for my cock, right?” He growls wickedly between his chuckles, pushing your body forward with each hard drag of his cock into your ass, grinding the leather of his glove into your clit as he repeatedly hits the same sensitive spot in your cunt.

You can’t take it anymore, your clenched jaw slackening as you begin to give in to the pleasure. The overwhelming wave of your coming orgasm is visible on the horizon and you can’t do anything but stare at it head on, waiting helplessly to be absolutely swept away by it.

"Ah ah, fuck!" You cry out between parted lips, viciously squeezing the edge of the counter between your fingers, losing control over your body, unable to stop yourself from moaning lewdly in time with the forced climax.

With one last flick of his fingers and a pinch to your nipple, you have no choice but to stare blankly into the mirror as you shatter into a thousand pathetic pieces with a strangled scream. The trembling of your inner thighs is quickly followed by your toes curling inside the red boots of the costume as you cum hard around the masked killer's fingers.

Your pussy quivers violently as he shakes with laughter against your body, with a dose of sincere joy that you would find almost childish if it weren't for the obscene way he is still thrusting his cock into your back. He continues to finger fuck you throughout your orgasm, leaving you gasping and writhing in shocks of pleasure, your eyes wide and wet in the mirror.

“Please stop, that’s enough-” You gasp, your legs locking from the overstimulation as he continues to work your clit mercilessly. “P-please, I’ll do anything, please just stop! Stop now -"

You're interrupted as a whirlwind of dizzying events ensues; one moment he's fingering your pussy to overstimulation with no intention of stopping - the next he's pulling his fingers from your quivering walls with such force that it elicits a shocked gasp from you. Your body is suddenly spun around and your back slams painfully into the mirror with an impact strong enough to crack the glass into several sharp ridges on your back, small shards getting stuck in the back of your costume. You have half a second to scream at the dangerous sensation before he's straightening you up on the counter, his body wedging between your parted legs before you can even react and close them.

You're still trying to figure out what happened; how he managed to just lift you into the air and slam you into the counter like you weighed nothing. How he was so quick to do it and, most importantly, what motivated him to do it. But all is forgotten when he grabs your neck between his fingers, roughly pulling your face closer to his until you're face to face with that ghostly mask.

But there's no fake face in the world that can hide the anger bubbling through the man's pores. A feeling so obvious, intense and abrupt that it makes you shiver and try to pull away reflexively, but his grip won't let you go anywhere. His already undeniably imposing figure straightens to its full height, intimidating and dangerous, a ominous and dark aura that encircles your body like a spool of doom.

"Stop? Who the fuck do you think you are to tell me when to stop? Do you know who decides when we stop, you bitch? Me! That fucking cunt belongs to me. It's mine as fuck and you're not going to tell me when I should or shouldn't touch it. Because your whole body, your mind, your fucking soul, is mine. Mine."

He curses and bites acidly right in front of your face and fear hits you all at once, absolutely terrifying: the way he’s panting under his mask and hissing with barely contained rage, the way your name leaves his lips in a heated growl. A direct threat from a mindless animal. It’s all clear — so, so clear.

He’s dangerous and unstable and horrible and you can’t escape him.

Your hands start to tug at his wrist, pushing him away, already sensing what’s coming - and it really comes. Ignoring your futile attempt to push him away, the hand on your throat tightens. His fingers press, cutting off the air, squeezing and hurting your flesh. Your windpipe is tightly caged between his palm and thumb and he shows no hesitation as he presses hard, suffocating you with a cruel grip.

Now, unlike his outburst of anger a few seconds ago, with your life literally being measured in his hands, he becomes the cold and indifferent embodiment of his alias, watching your fight as if it were nothing new.

It isn't.

The world around you begins to spin as you feel dizzy, your head swimming and spinning as your heart beats uselessly against the finger over your carotid artery, numb lips and throat working ever more slowly beneath his hand. Your struggle is over, as meaningless as it was to begin with.

You surrender to this ghost, dropping his hands from his wrist and letting your body go limp beneath him.

The monster senses your surrender, humming contently at your soft submission, even though you are barely conscious enough to notice. The grip on your throat loosens and you instinctively tilt your head away from his grasp, gasping for breath in desperate noises, coughing and spitting as tears spill over in response to the throbbing sting in the circumference of your throat. You feel a large hand stroke your hair as you struggle to catch your breath; and the almost patronizing touch, as horrible and unwelcome as it is, grounds you for a moment, helping you gradually transform your rapid, labored breathing into deep sighs.

"Don't forget what I'm going to say now and maybe we won't have to go through this again, princess:" He whisper at you with serious voice. "You're mine. For better or worse. You're mine."

The hand in your hair moves forward, tangling in the strands, massaging your skull, and it's probably just the hazy haze of suffocation that keeps you from noticing his next move, but it's the feel of a gentle, wet kiss on the bruised line his fingers have left on your skin that makes you conscious once more. He holds your head firmly by the hair, preventing you from moving to get a better look, but it's immediately clear that he's pushed the mask up enough to expose his lips, which continue to slide along the curve of your neck and jaw.

Your ears are throbbing with the pounding of your heart as you stare over the killer’s shoulder at the wall across the bathroom with wide eyes – the man blowing puffs of pure wet heat across your skin to leave goosebumps in his wake. His mouth is undesirably soft and delicate on your bruised skin (pleasant really, you’d say, if you weren’t, well…in the situation you’re in), his other hand coming up so he can rub his thumb across your lips, slowly parting them until he pokes your teeth with the tip of his glove.

“Open that pretty mouth and show me you know it, sweet little slut.” He whispers the degradation with a noticeably lessened dose of hatred than before – low and breathy, his mouth on your cheek, his thumb pulling away to run his index and middle fingers across your parted lips.

His breath bathes your skin in wet heat, the refreshing scent of some mint gum he chewed recently still there. (He was chewing a damn piece of gum while he murdered someone, your mind completes in full hysterics. Brutally piercing some poor student's insides with the sharp blade of that knife while he carelessly rolls the soft gum between his teeth. He's sick, sick, sick.)

"Suck them clean." He orders, cutting through the murky waters of your wandering mind as pushes two fingers onto the flat of your tongue, forcing you to accept the invasion.

It's on autopilot that you register the strong, smoky taste of leather mixed with the familiar taste of your arousal, which still glistens with the fresh wetness of your orgasm on the surface of his glove. You squeeze your eyes shut, gagging more at the sheer depravity of the act than the intrusion itself.

"That's it, princess. So beautiful like this, taking my fingers like a good girl..." he pulls his face away to look at yours, smiling at your fearful gaze; you close the lips around his fingers, sucking and licking slowly at the soft leather of the glove as you clean your own taste from the material as if you meant it - even as the tears keep falling. All you can see in the purple lighting of the bathroom is the lower half of his face and even that is partial, the white mask resting on his nose shadowing what little skin is visible. Despite that, it is evident how his smile stretches, wide and mischievous - pearly teeth slightly crooked at the front, canines sharp and shiny, like those of a cunning predator that has caught up with its prey.

His grip on your hair tightens to keep you still, his fingers coming to life as he thrusts slowly, out and in and out and in, into the cozy warmth of your mouth. You choke around him, saliva pooling between teeth and flesh as he pushes your tongue down, fucking your mouth like it’s a pussy — each slow stroke pushing deeper, until you feel the tips of both his fingers sliding down your throat.

“God, I want to feel so bad that pretty little mouth wrapped around my cock,” he sighs, his gaze locked on yours, fascinated by your gasps and sobs, his smile slowly dying so he can bite his lip as he hums dreamily, “you’re going to be so good to me, I just know it.”

Your wet gaze is half-lidded, mouth slack and full, only giving in to the forced intrusion when you feel him gather the strands of your hair into a messy ponytail in his other hand to pull and push your head along his now-still fingers - the explicit and purposeful parallel of the depraved act with another very unique one does not go unnoticed.

He's guiding the rhythm of your head as if he is dictating how you suck his cock.

It is humiliating; a byproduct of male dominance that is offensive and filthy in its most brutal form. You hate every damn second of this silent abuse. But your pussy seems to have a mind of its own, because with each forced thrust against the saliva-soaked leather of the glove, it clenches a little tighter around nothing, demanding attention.

You whimper at the betrayal of your own body, mouth stuffed and saliva beginning to drip down your lips and chin.

When he withdraws his fingers from between your lips, it is with calculated slowness, prolonging the elasticity of a thick thread of saliva that remains joining the digits in the glove to your loose tongue. He grunts a satisfied sound at the debauched sight, lowering his face to stretch out his own tongue and break the sticky bond after a few seconds of contemplation, licking the saliva accumulated on your chin upwards with a greedy drag of the wet and hot muscle, lighting flames of embarrassment on your cheeks.

You shudder at the grip on your hair as he pulls your head back at the same time as roughly sinks his teeth into the soft plush of your lower lip. Your little hands immediately spread themselves on his chest to try to push him away, but this and your cry of pain only serve to draw an amused laugh from him. It is obviously of his own free will that he mercifully gives in to your plea after a few seconds of torture. He sucks the sensitive flesh into his lips, licking and soothing the bite with a gentle, wet suction.

Mistakenly, your body decides to relax against his hands, welcoming the gentle but cunning care that is his tongue caressing the small, bloody cut he left on your lip. He eases your pain, even if it is because of him that you feel it in the first place.

It is natural for the contact to evolve, after all, his tongue is right there; sliding across your lower lip, his lips brushing yours provocatively. It is really predictable what would happen next, but it still pulls a dazed gasp from your throat.

His fingers hold your head firmly by the ponytail and his mouth covers yours completely, like a wet, warm cocoon that you cannot escape. The groan that sounds from his throat at the feel of your lips on his is one of deep satisfaction, a breathy appreciation that rumbled as he curls his body over yours, locks your legs around his waist, and moves his mouth over yours.

It’s nothing like any kiss you’ve ever experienced in the past. You’re not even sure if it could even be called a kiss.

There are perhaps no words for it other than hunger and need as he barely touches his mouth to yours before his lips are forcing yours apart so the wet muscle of his tongue can slide between your teeth. He’s rough and intense, kissing you like he’s kicking your soul out of your body. It’s all a clash of teeth and tongue that leaves you with your hands trembling in the collar of his robe, your eyes half-lidded and your cheeks flushed as you struggle not to choke on the wild rhythm of the pseudo-kiss. Every inch of the contact feels equally forced and premeditated, an unaltered conclusion that has you subtly pushing your hips forward against him as the sheer surprise and discomfort of the act subsides into something deeper. Darker. You can barely breathe in the tiny, moist inches that open between your lips, making small choking sounds in his mouth - stunned, outraged, humiliated, bursting into flames-

The pointed chin of the mask is digging painfully into your skin at this angle and all you can do is try to tilt your head to the side to avoid hurting yourself, since the man doesn't seem to have the slightest interest in your comfort. But not even this is enough to contain the chilling flame that grows between your legs with each hot breath that leaves the killer's nostrils on your cheek, his greedy tongue licking your teeth and his lips drinking your saliva as if it were the most delicious wine.

When he breaks the kiss it's like breathing after a long time underwater, your other senses dulled and directed only at him like a funnel.

"What in the bloody hell was that? Getting a guy all heated and bothered with a kiss," He grins between a breathy laugh, barely separating his lips from yours, rubbing the tips of your noses together in a comical imitation of affection as you both breathe heavily, "you really are something special, aren't you little girl?"

As you gasp for air, feeling your cheeks darken several shades at the unwanted compliment, the man caresses your face in a disturbingly affectionate manner, as if he's rewarding you for letting him kiss your mouth like that, even though it's clear he's not done yet. Pulling away from you just a few inches, you twitch and yelp as he roughly grabs you by the hips to pull you to the edge of the counter, making you subconsciously lean your back. A second later, he rips the tiny shorts you're wearing down, skimming over the curve of your ass and thighs, grabbing the flesh there greedily as he simply rips the thing off your body.

It takes a few seconds for the realization that there are no more barriers in place to keep the killer at bay to sink in — not that it ever did stop him before anyway. But knowing that beneath your red pleated skirt there’s no covering to offer even a modicum of safety (even if misguided) is nerve-racking in a way that makes your blood roar through your veins, and, illogically, not in a bad way.

“Do you feel that?” he murmurs, wet, breathless lips brushing the hollow of your throat as he bends down slightly to unbuckle his belt. The clink of metal is nearly drowned out by the pounding of your heart and the loud music downstairs. “That’s what you do to me. Every time I see you, every time you look up with those big, shy eyes — I want you to look at me, I need that look to be mine. And you don’t understand, do you? You drive me so fucking crazy, girl.” You barely put up a fight when he takes a thigh in each hand and wraps them around his waist before taking his cock in his palm and stroking it a little. It takes everything in you not to look down, teeth sinking into the soft, swollen surface of your lower lip as you hear the wet squelch that the contact between his gloved fingers and his cock makes with each lewd tug.

There should be more resistance in you, but all that’s left at this point is exhaustion and the painful slap of reality that comes with accepting the fact that you’re not rejecting this as much as you used to. There’s a war going on between your body and your mind. Where, of course, you know how sick this man is and how dangerous it would be to give in, there’s also the certainty that he brings out something undesirable in you — that intoxicating, dark sensation of feeling good about being so violently desired by someone. It’s not something you’re proud of, of course. But there’s no denying the way your body wants to succumb to it, to give itself completely to this cruel man you don’t even know but who is obviously obsessed with you. It’s something you can’t begin to comprehend, much less accept, but it comes rushing back to you anyway.

Your poor therapist might have a thing or two to say about such urges.

He rubs the bulbous crown of his cock against your sensitive, shamefully touch-starved clit and you shiver as the heat and dew of his pre-cum spreads through you at the contact. A warm, newborn droplet trickles over your bud of nerves, bathing it in tingling as he steadily nudges the tip along your wet folds. His thumb joins in the teasing, swirling with a few hard rubs followed by a softer touch, too deliberate to be anything but expert, pushing against the hood and pulling it back, exposing your nub to him even more. From his expose lips he makes a deep sound as he feels you getting wetter, more slippery. He circles your clit relentlessly and it’s him who moans louder between the two of you, even though it’s you who’s eyes are rolling back in pleasure.

He recovers quickly, though. Hearing and seeing how loud the sounds of your wetness ring out in the small bathroom, he breathes a laugh so mocking and icy that you feel yourself immediately wither against the mirror behind you, your face burning with the blush of a new wave of humiliation. The killer ignores you, of course, using one hand to lift your thigh up and to the side, doing the same with the other, adjusting both of your legs so that your feet rest almost flat along the edge of the counter - exposing you as if your modesty and dignity mattered nothing at all.

And it doesn't. Not to him.

"So wet." He teases, annoyingly making a point of giving voice to what you've both already realized. His hand slides over the curve of your thigh possessively, pushing the draped fabric of your red skirt with it so that it bunches at your hips. He groans as watches his length freely slide through the slickness between your legs, giving a shallow pump forward. The gloved thumb presses with just the right amount of force, rubbing in a circular motion that makes your toes curl inside the boots and your throat tighten at the noise you suppress. That is, until the soft, wet tip catches against your opening and he pushes inside without further ado.

You gasp loudly at the sharp pressure, reflexively slapping the hands against his chest to push him away, but soon both his arms are around your body, preventing you from going any further, pinning you against him with his strong hands and his cock.

“Aaaah!” You cry out, and he immediately brushes his lips against your ear, leaving a sharp bite on the sensitive flesh, enjoying the struggle evident on your face. Your pussy hasn’t been used properly in a long time, and this man certainly doesn’t lack in the size department.

“Shhhh,” he hums, sounding too pleased for it to even remotely be interpreted as an attempt at comfort. “You can handle it, baby,” he whispers in your ear, one hand relaxing its iron grip on your body to cup your cheek, “I know you can.”

It’s not like he’s giving you any options other than to handle it. And yet, over the sting of the stretch and the ache of being taken without denying it, your insides burn with dark desire. It’s like being fully satisfied with something you didn’t even know you needed.

“That’s it?” he asks as you throw your head back in the mirror, eyes closed and teeth digging into your bottom lip. “Does it feel good to you like this? Baby likes a little pain, yeah?”

You blush, unable to think about it too much without feeling like you could go straight to the hospice.

Thankfully, he doesn’t press you for an answer. Instead, firmly breaching your tremble hole, he thrusts and thrusts and gasps heated and wetly into your ear, pressing deeper until he’s halfway in. And then he stops. The fingers of one hand close loosely on the bruised skin of your throat and you freeze, fearing for a moment that he’s going to choke you once more — this time while impaling you on his thick cock. But as the seconds stretch by without such a thing happening, you begin to notice something else. Those fingers; cruel, bloody fingers, responsible for the deaths of many people, are unsteady on your flesh.

He’s trembling.

The elongated digits are gripping your flesh with no real pressure, just a nice, soft collar around your throat, but the way they’re trembling is noticeable even through the barrier of the glove.

You open your eyes to a slit, knowing you can’t see him properly with the way his mouth remains pressed against your ear, breathing heavily and heatedly. And there’s no logical explanation as to why such an action catches you so off guard. But feeling this killer, this horrible, terrifying man who is obviously incapable of a basic level of respect for human life, gasp and tremble at being inside you, makes you gasp in response. Your insides clench involuntarily and more moisture coats the heavy shaft in your pussy, making it easier for him to pass through.

Then, slowly, he moves his other palm up to squeeze your breast over the fabric of your costume before he begins to pump the rest of his length inside you.

“Mmm…that’s it,” he murmurs, “f-fuck, you feel so good, so good.”

Again, you say nothing, burying your embarrassing moans and your tears as best you can — both from pleasure and humiliation. The man is so disturbingly warm curled up against you, his body broad and tall and so firm, dark clothing heavy but soft over his defined stomach that flexes against you with each thrust - the mask poking your flesh every now and then as his breath hitches in your ear. You want to cry out in fear as much as you want to scream in pleasure.

It’s a bitter kind of betrayal the way your body seems to want to decide the game for you; your quivering pussy giving in, against all logic and reason, to accept the forced intrusion, allowing the rest of his cock to pass inside your silky walls. You lose the battle almost immediately after that, gasping at the feel of every inch of his thick member firmly seated inside you, breathless at what he’s daring to do to you. Worse than if he had broken into the bathroom to murder you, you’d say. Because here, he’s not just violently attacking you and taking your right to life, without you being able to fight back. Here he’s making you submit to him; making you want to surrender to the overwhelming sensations that he brutally rips from your body - like a priest exorcising a poor possessed soul. He humiliated you in the worst possible way and he knows it.

And you find yourself less and less concerned about it.

You tilt your head to the side - and now there is no more internal restraint to prevent your moans.

“Please…aaah…”

“That’s it, princess,” he chuckles, as if he senses you’re giving in.

The time he stays still inside you doesn’t last long, just the few seconds long enough for you to feel the heat and enlargement of his cock, the thick veins pulsing as he bounces between your walls. It’s as if the pain has pierced you beyond anything else, pierced you like a sharp bolt of lightning that has fried your nerves until it’s left behind nothing but a sense of…overwhelming fullness. You’re completely boneless, trapped between his strong body and the mirror, your hands clenched loosely in the dark fabric of his robe. It’s a sensory experience that quickly becomes too much, but not enough.

When he pulls his hips back you experience a confused moment of panic, frustrated as you feel him pull away from you to leave your pussy achingly empty. There’s no time to question the insanity of your thoughts though.

His fingers are still shaking as he pulls away from you, releasing your throat to tangle them deep into the roots of your hair as a scream is forced like a punch from your lungs when, in a single strong thrust, he is fully sheathed within your quivering insides once more.

Between the iron grip on your hair and his hand gripping your breast like a vise, all you can do is grip his robe tighter as he ravages you. His teeth are where your neck meets your shoulder with a sharp bite, pulling away to thrust inside you in another violent thrust, your hole stretched and more vulnerable than ever. Your frantic brain is making you all too aware of every little sensation racking your body. The way his thick cock opens you, how each thrust makes your smaller body tremble, leaving you breathless as you dig your nails into the soft fabric of his robe to try and hold on through the punishing rhythm of his hips. When this night is over, and assuming you’re still alive, you know you’ll be bruised and sore everywhere, from your hips and ass to your breasts and throat. In your mind and in your soul. Right now, you don’t know if you’ll ever recover from this. If you’d ever want to.

"S-stop..." You don't know why the words are coming out of your mouth; not only would they be useless to the man, but they also carry no real force behind them. You don't even know if you really want him to stop. It feels more like an instinctive reaction than what your brain deems to be the right thing to do. "I - I'm going to scream."

He laughs, recognizing your empty threat for what it is, but your stomach still twists when he grips your hair to pull your face towards his.

"Oh, you promise? Please do it, little girl."

Out of spite, you close your mouth, but that only seems to incite him. With an amused chuckle and one last pinch to your nipple, he releases your breast to grab both of your thighs. His hands are large on your flesh while his fingers bruise the soft skin even more.

"Such a stubborn little thing. We can't have any of that, can we, sweetie?"

His hands curl under your ass and, after a greedy squeeze, he’s lifting you up, not letting his cock slip out of your pussy for even half a moment before he slams you against the wall. Your spine arches and your bones rattle from the nothing short of violent impact, but he doesn’t care, writhing and pulsing inside you, undeniably stimulated by your pain - and oh god, this definitely shouldn’t feel as fucking good as it does.

It barely takes a second before he’s holding you steady and still by your thighs before he starts ramming his wet cock in and out of you again, like a machine, so hard that each thrust of his hips makes your back hit the wall.

In this position you’re forced to wrap your arms behind his neck for safety, feeling his hands close on the inner curve below your knee to spread your legs even wider, his body so intimately pressed against yours that it’s almost unsettling. Especially after so long without any human contact like this. You feel, to say the least, overwhelmed by such a sudden onslaught of intimacy.

You tense when he thrusts in a particularly dirty way, grinning like hell when you hiccup with a moan. He repeats the movement out of pure tease, his mask askew but turned toward you, the mocking line of his lips right next to yours.

“Mine,” he whispers, “My princess, my little pet, my cute little toy.”

His thrusts become not only hard but fast as well, and you can hear each time his body hits yours with a wet slap, each withdrawal slick and sticky.

“Please, w-why are you doing this? Why me?” It’s all you can manage to ask, your head growing increasingly confused, your pussy growing wetter.

He slows his movements to a blessedly slower grind, humming dramatically as he pretends to ponder your question.

“Why you?”

In an abrupt movement that you wouldn't have expected in a million years, he lets go of one of your thighs and abruptly rips the mask off his face, with such ease that you initially don't understand what it means. But then, with finality and violence, the weight of reality falls upon you.

He took off the mask.

He let you see his face.

The face of a murderer wanted by the police.

You were already dead. Yes, if such a fate was uncertain before, it certainly isn't anymore.

The shock of the revelation is so absolute that it takes a few seconds for you to actually focus on his face. But slowly, each individual feature seems to stick to your mush brain.

First you are greeted with that shock of long platinum blonde hair, tied in a loose bun, a few strands stuck to the sweaty skin of his forehead and the sides of his face.

The hair alone would be enough for you to easily recognize him.

But then your gaze falls to those eyes.

Eye, actually. A single, functional one, a stormy blue — enigmatic and dark as the turbulent waters of the farthest reaches of the ocean. The other, or where the other should be, is occupied by some kind of ocular prosthesis of a blue hue that could not be less like his good eye — a vivid, electric blue, like a rare, brilliant sapphire stone.

It is the first time you have seen him like this, so exposed. Always hidden by a pair of sunglasses or, failing that, a surgical eye patch. The pale skin of the man’s face would be flawless, were it not for the long, jagged scar that cuts across his cheekbone to above the line of his damaged eye.

The purple hues of the bathroom highlight all his sharp angles and an elegant appearance that is characteristic of the aristocratic genes of someone so well born.

Yes, you know this man.

Aemond Targaryen.

A college guy. Normal, as far as you can tell. Or as normal as someone privileged and born with a silver spoon in their mouth could be. Yes, he was introverted, arrogant even with his silent and mysterious attitude, as if everyone was beneath him. The few times he was pushed to enter a conversation or any other social interaction (most often by his own brother) his comments were imbued with a polite acidity that is totally unique to someone with class, or with discreet but effective jabs that carried a humor considered, at least, questionable.

Aemond constantly balanced on the fine line between cool elegance and petulant irreverence, which generated controversial opinions about him among the students. To you, he was intriguing. Someone you quietly admired, offering polite greetings and a sincere smile when your paths crossed.

Yes, you knew him - as did the entire student body knows him. The Targaryens were obscenely wealthy, widely recognized for carrying an exorbitant legacy not only of family polemics, but also of successful generations, all in the field of technology and communication.

And yes, Aemond Targaryen was someone seriously conflicted, with his taciturn and enigmatic aura.

But a serial killer? That would be impossible.

And yet he was here, smelling of leather and sandalwood - as well as blood and death, wet crimson stains on his dark robes, forcing you to the most terrifying and controversial act of your entire life.

The dawning horror of the notion that the killer on the loose could be someone you know, someone who was present in your daily life, who attended the same classes as you and yet, who you never even dreamed of suspecting, seems to want to suffocate you momentarily.

“I see you around campus. You know, some wise ones tend to avoid me whenever possible, and then there are those pathetic rats who try to get close out of some specific interest in what my clown family can offer. But you? You’re always kind. Even with your mysterious and solitary attitude, you’re still so stupidly kind to me. It’s ridiculous, princess, but also so cute.” He’s pleased by the utter shock on your face, grinning evilly as he shoots his hand out and wraps both forearms around the inside of your knees, his cock thrusting deeper into your pussy, leaning in menacingly until his teeth are grazing your ear.

“You’re all I can think about, baby. You’ve invaded my mind, my body, my life. You’ve fucking ruined me.” He speaks directly into your ear, a harsh whisper that makes you gasp and shiver despite the crushing weight of the discovery still fresh in your mind.

“It’s only fair that I ruin you too, right?”

You glow at the intimacy of his words, incandescent with the blush spreading across your cheeks, your throat, your collarbone.

“You...oh, fuck...” Your accusatory words to him die on your tongue as one particular thrust hits a spot inside you that has you curling the toes in response. Little gasps escape your lips as he hits the same spot over and over, your eyes filled with revulsion and desire beginning to soften with an inevitable flutter of the lashes.

“That’s right, just take it, baby.” He sighs with a smile, kissing your jaw as you tilt your head back. His voice is like molasses; soft but rough around the edges — sweet but dark with the huskiness of his lust. It’s getting harder for you to control this feeling now. You feel your legs tighten, instinctively trying to wrap yourself around his waist tighter. A hand rising from his broad shoulder to tangle in the platinum strands of hair at the nape of his neck, eliciting an approving grunt from the man. He watches you with awe and a hooded gaze as you give in to that feeling of helplessness once again.

“You feel so warm and wet, dripping all over that pretty pussy, drooling on my cock like that…you’ve been just as desperate as I have, umm? So lonely…you’ll never be lonely again, princess,” he promises hotly, groping his way up your thighs until he grabs your ass, thrusting slowly, deeply, brushing against your cervix each time.

“I’m going to fuck your ass like that someday.” He says casually with a sly smile as his fingertips slide along the crack of your ass, thrusting his cock into your pussy harder to show you what he means, making your breath shallow and your eyes widen. “I think I’ll do that next time indeed. Fill every tight little hole in your body. Mark every inch of your skin as mine.”

“Oh, God -” You feel tears forming in your eyes and streaming down your cheeks as you squeeze them shut, shaking as he teases you with wicked words, his hands coming up to grip either side of your waist. “Stop, please.”

“Oh no, baby, I’m not stopping. Not now and not ever. I’m going to claim that body in every damn way I can. With my cock, my fingers, my tongue.” You moan and pull away from him, your cheeks red and wet, shaking your head in a mumbled protest that’s too weak to be taken seriously. There’s more pleasure on your face than fear. He chuckles. “Do you like that? Do you like the idea of my tongue in that sweet pussy?”

Before you can think to deny it, his mouth crashes down on yours, rough and brutal, hungry. There’s blood on your tongue, you notice, the cut reopened in his greed, the taste ferrous and acrid in your mouth as his tongue slides inside — his, maybe, or yours, or both, you don’t know.

As quickly as it begins, it ends. Aemond pulls back enough to brush his lips against yours, sharing quick, wet breaths.

“Oh yes, you do. You love knowing that I want to lick that pussy until you come, once, twice, three times — until you squeal and beg me to stop. But I won’t. I’ll make you come as many times as I want, as many times as your body can take. And even then, even if you pass out from exhaustion, I’ll fuck you. Like a beautiful little sex doll.”

Amidst the sensual humiliation of his wanton words, you feel your back scraping against the wall; up and down, over and over. The grip of your fingers in his hair tightens and he growls in his throat, palming your ass to move it with more fervor. He holds his own body still, using only the strength of his arms hooked in the crook of your knees and his hands on your waist to move you up and down his cock.

His face, though it still manages to hold that cold, wicked smirk, is smudged with a soft blush across his cheeks and the bridge of the nose, the rest of his pale skin glistens slightly with sweat, and his good eye is dark with desire — the pupil so wide it almost completely overpowers the blue of his iris. And he’s beautiful like that; even with the prosthetic eye and the frightening scar. Beautiful and ethereal, completely belying his sick personality and unforgivable sins.

Through parted lips he gasps with effort and it takes a moment, but when he pushes you up again, your face completely implodes into flames as you realize he’s using you to masturbate. He’s doing exactly what he said he would, using you like a sex doll, a flashlight clenched around his cock.

His thrusting becomes faster and rougher as he grips your waist tighter between his broad palms, dragging your pussy down his cock with short strokes. Your own breaths shorten, becoming ragged sobs each time the fabric of his robe rubs against your sensitive clit. When he’s basically grinding your pussy against him, undulating your hips in a hurried back and forth, he leans down to press the forehead to yours. His heavy, cold gaze stays locked on yours through each drag.

“That’s it. That’s it. Look at me. You’re so tight, so good. Keep looking at me. Good girl.” He punctuates each word with breathless slowness. Each guided movement of your hips is intentionally placed — rubbing your walls against his thick cock while simultaneously stimulating your clit against the mound of fabric of his tunic in a way he knows will send you over the edge.

Despite the order, your eyes grow heavy and fluttery, beginning to roll back as the muscles in your thighs and abdomen tense in preparation for the inevitable climax. That scary and wonderful cliff that taunts you in a messy way, approaching faster than you can understand.

A hard slap on your cheek brings you back.

“What did I just say, princess?” he growls, his voice rough with the effort of holding back his own desires. And your cheek stings where he’s hit you, glowing an even deeper shade of red, but you barely give it half a second’s attention — not when he’s looking at you like this; all breathless, sweaty lines and smoldering gaze.

“Keep your fucking eyes on me.” He releases your jaw with a warning jerk, sliding his hand down through your wet mess to find your swollen clit and circle the bud with his thumb, his other hand still tight around your waist. His body grinds into yours, flattening you against his lean muscles and the wall, slamming his hips into yours without pause.

You take a deep, shaky breath.

Your boots cross behind his back, skirt swinging at his waist with each thrust. And yet you do your best to hold Aemond’s obsessive gaze – unable to even name the intensity of the emotion swirling within you. The muscles in your thighs now tremble visibly, clenching tightly around his body in your impending release.

“Aemond – I need, oh, I can't…” You whisper, barely realizing what comes out of your mouth, a broken moan escaping along with the jumbled words, your entire body twitching under the expert assault of his thumb on your clit and his quick, relentless thrusts. You were close. So close. Balancing precariously right on the edge. And he knew it too.

“That’s it, say my fucking name as you cum for me. Come on, do it now little girl.”

It happens quickly after that, relentlessly, your eyes trying to close without your permission, but you are obedient and keep them half-lidded as you stare at Aemond, a choked cry finally escaping your throat.

“Aemond!”

With a determined growl, sweat dripping down his temples, he thrusts into you harder and harder until the tight coil snaps. Shockwaves of electric pleasure overwhelm you, forcing all the air from your lungs in a messy gasp. You shake as you come, clenching the fist against your attacker’s chest, nails digging into the roots of his silver hair, trying to ignore the stinging taste of shame as you find purchase in his body.

“Look at me. Look at me, baby.” He pushes his forehead against yours, sending you a sly, proud smile as your eyes flutter and water with the effort of keeping them open through the climax. His pace quickens with the excitement of seeing your drunken gaze and flushed face.

His own release washes over him like the purest rush of insanity; brows furrowed as if he’s in pain, lips parted in a hoarse groan that raises every little hair on your body. His warm cum fills you, bubbling at the tight rims of the ring of muscle where his cock stretches you. He stays buried inside as his balls empty, his head finally tilting back and breaking intense eye contact as his lips release another long, satisfied groan.

When it’s all over, he slowly leans down to touch your foreheads once more, and you feel an overwhelming, incoherent wave of satisfaction when notice the muscles in his arms and fingers trembling where they touch your skin.

“You’re mine,” he murmurs between labored breaths. “All mine.”

He babbles possessively, rolling his hips into you to prolong the intimacy, even as you feel him softening discreetly within your walls.

“I’ll burn the world for you, I’ll do anything to keep your eyes on me like this. I’ll kill as many as it takes to have you by my side.” His voice, husky and haunting, makes you shiver with horror — with heat.

You don’t think he needs your involvement in the story to fulfill the last part of his dark promise. Not with the previous list of confirmed murders or the blood that stains his clothes tonight. That stains your costume now too. But his words still send a swarm of butterflies dancing in your stomach and, not for the first time, you find yourself questioning the integrity of your mental health.

He’s smiling at your flushed, uncomfortable features, swollen lips brushing against yours playfully as he catches the breath to say something else that will surely upset you deeply. Before he can, however, his broad body freezes against yours, whatever he was about to say abruptly dying on his tongue.

Like a tense and intriguing suspense, the two of you are slowly bathed in the garish red and blue lights that filter through the small bathroom window, overshadowing the soft purple lighting from before.

The police.

Just as the realization sets in, the sound of sirens is heard; loud and distinctive. And it is then, and only then, that you notice that there are no more sounds of music coming from downstairs.

When had it stopped?

Relief is the first thing you feel. Hope and security flicker in your chest until a new wave of tears blurs your vision. But the feeling quickly withers before another realization. The police, along with your college friends, were minutes away from finding out where and who you had been all this time. They would find Aemond, it was true. They would finally arrest the killer known as Ghostface. But they would also find you. You, abused, raped and humiliated.

God, could they deduce just by looking at you that, at some point during this violation, you had started to want this?

Your jaw is gripped by his firm fingers, making your wide, wet eyes focus on the man in front of you. He looks at you with such intensity, serious and analytical, and in that moment you are sure that he knows exactly what you are thinking.

“I know where every single one of your friends lives, what every single one of them does during the day — every damn minute of their activities is recorded for me,” he whispers slowly, sinking each word into your overworked brain to make sure you understand. “The same goes for your family members. I know where they live, who they are, and what they do. Dare to open your pretty little mouth to anyone about me and you’ll get one of their heads every time you open your dorm room door in the morning. I’ll even do the favor of gift wrapping it for you, baby.”

Your stomach lurches with sudden nausea, all the color draining from your face at the threat you know he wouldn’t hesitate to carry out if need be.

“I truly hope you won’t betray my trust, love. Like I said before, I don’t want to kill you.” He smooths his knuckles down your tear-stained cheek, softening his tone to something softer and gentler — yet equally terrifying. “But I’ll do it to someone you care about without a second thought. So don’t test me.”

He doesn’t wait for a response before he seals his lips on yours. Just a light, wet touch, more an intimate exchange of heated breaths than a kiss. With an approving grunt when you sigh and surrender to his touch, he pulls away.

Your shaky, weak legs give way as he leaves your body, and you slide down the wall in a confused, weeping heap until you’re sitting on the tiled bathroom floor.

Hovering above you, Aemond tucks his penis into the pants and fastens his belt, straightening the robes with a perfectly neutral expression and calm manner, as if at this very moment the cops aren’t searching the frat house for him. Long fingers casually grip the mask lying on the counter, giving you one last intense, appraising look, licking his lips slyly before covering his face.

That ghost mask is back then, cold and frightening, pulling the hood up over his head before bending down and holding the bloody kitchen knife in the palm of his hand. Black boots click on the tile floor as he turns back to you and heads for the door, casting a glance over his shoulder as he places hand on the doorknob.

“This won’t be the last time, princess. I’ll come back for you.” His voice is dark and muffled by the mask, sounding more like a threat to your life than a lover’s promise, especially now that he’s back in his ghostly, cruel persona. “Until then, try not to miss me too much, and of course, be on your best behavior.”

He leaves as disturbingly as he came, with a dark swish of his cloak and an amused chuckle, closing the door with a teasing gentleness — as if he’s trying not to scare you. You might even buy his act, if it weren't for all the psychological terror he's inflicted on you so far.

And then you find yourself alone in the bathroom once again, with nothing but your own shame and accusatory thoughts.

And that's exactly how the cops find you a few minutes later. Sitting on the tile floor, pale as death, your Sailor Mars costume stained with blood and throat marked from the cruel grip of your attacker's fingers. Your cheek still stings from the slap he gave you.

You think you can hide the finger marks on your thighs by deliberately tucking the legs in, taking the opportunity to keep the messy puddle of cum out of sight of the lawmen. But one of them still wraps his jacket around you in a gesture of solidarity as he leads you out, reciting kind words that, despite their intention, do nothing to actually calm you.

“Oh, thank God!”

You stagger back at the sudden hug Mako gives you as you exit the house, crossing the area marked off by yellow police tape. The officer next to you clucks his tongue in disapproval, but steps aside to offer the two of you some privacy.

“Someone called the police when they found the bodies on the next street. It all happened so fast. The party was going on and then everything turned into absolute chaos and I couldn’t find you anywhere!” She babbles quickly as pulls away from the hug, looking you up and down with her puffy, red eyes, her hands shaking where they are — clenched tightly on the arms of the police jacket you’re wearing, as if she’s afraid you’ll disappear if she lets go. “W-when they said that you could be upstairs with him…I-I thought…fuck…I really thought—”

“I know. But I’m here now. And I’m fine.” You cut her off, wiping away your own tears as you try to give her a very unconvincing smile. Predictably, she doesn’t buy your lie, but doesn’t press it either.

“They couldn’t catch him, pumpkin…” she says slowly after a moment of silence, her face contorted in pain for you. “By the time they got upstairs, he’d already escaped. I'm sorry."

You want to tell her that you know that, you were there when he fled before could be caught. Before you can, however, the officer from before is back - this time accompanied by another, a tall, tired-looking man with a gray beard. The sheriff, you assume.

"If you don't mind, we'd like to ask you a few questions, miss." The older man grunts, looking like he wants to be literally anywhere else but here.

"She does, actually. Can't you see how she looks?!" Mako is quick to respond, leaning forward to position herself in front of you like a protective barrier. The officers look at her like she's a little girl throwing a tantrum, nothing but tired indifference on their faces.

"It's okay, Mako. I got it." You try to calm the situation, placing a hand on her shoulder to gently guide her to the side. "I'd rather do it now, actually. I just want to put this all behind me as soon as possible."

It's impossible to put this behind, but you don't say that part.

Mako holds your gaze for a few seconds, keeping such a watchful, worried glint in every expression on your face that, for a minute, you fear she might know exactly everything that happened just by that look. When she sighs and steps aside in reluctant surrender, you almost sigh along with her.

"Okay. But I won't go far, I'll be waiting for you right there."

You mumble an 'mkay' and she reluctantly walks away, not before casting a sharp glance at the two officers standing in the same position near you - who promptly ignore her silent attempt at a threat. When she finally walks away, you sigh, staring at the badge on the older man's chest for a few seconds as you prepare to craft a narrative of the facts that doesn't reveal anything about the killer's identity.

"Alright. What would you like to know, Sheriff Myers?"

Fortunately, the police in your town have never been the most diligent or perceptive, and while they may ask a few important questions here and there, they generally remain naturally ignorant to some confusing gaps in your version of events. You are careful to avoid saying anything about the sexual assault you suffered, opting to tell them only about the physical violence that they have inevitably noticed by now; the marks on your neck, wrists and the red slap on your cheek.

They accept your half-truths so easily that you would be offended if that wasn't exactly the goal. In the end, all that matters to them is the answer to one question:

"Did you get a look at his face? Skin color, hair, eyes... anything that might help us identify this fucker once and for all?"

And in that moment you think of Mako, her cheerful smile and irreverent attitude. You think of your parents, so safe and oblivious in your hometown. You think of the faces of every your family member, friend and colleague who could suffer an agonizing death at the hands of the killer if you dared to answer the wrong way.

"N-no, sir. I'm sorry, but no, I didn't see anything. He was completely covered the whole time, with gloves and a mask." You huddle deeper into the thick jacket over your shoulders, your arms wrapped around yourself.

The sheriff takes a deep breath, clearly disappointed at once again running in circles, but he doesn't press you on it. And after a few other less important questions, they both say goodbye with a standard guarantee of protection that you don't trust for a second.

They've barely moved away from you when your phone vibrates in the pocket with the warning of a new notification. After glancing over your shoulder in alarm to see if anyone was watching, you feel the heart race before you even reach for it, fingers already shaking with nervous anticipation, knowing exactly who the notification is from. With a shaky click of your thumb on the now mostly cracked and destroyed screen, the thing lights up for you:

Notification Center

2:23am - Unknown number

"Well done, little girl. You made me proud (and a little horny, I must admit) with all those pathetic little lies to the authorities. Keep being a good girl and everyone you care about will be safe. Scout's word.

We'll meet again sooner than you think.

A.T."

#house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #ewan mitchell #hotd #hotd season 2 #aemond one eye #aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen smut #prince aemond #aemond fanfiction #aemond smut #scream #ghostface x reader #ghostface x you #ghostface #content warning #aemond x reader #aemond x fem!reader

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malleleothreesome · 1 year ago

Text

Stage Sex - Fellow Honest x Fem Reader (Part One)

🌟 summary: Fellow convinces you to become his latest star, taking your virginity shibari style in front of a live audience. ༶༶༶ 🌟 warnings: afab fem reader. Porn with plot – if the plot is him convincing you to partake in the porn. I didn't write this with the intent of it being dubcon (in my mind, reader is a willing participant, and I never describe her as otherwise), but please err on the side of caution if you're sensitive to that. It's starring Fellow Honest, after all – he comes prepackaged with manipulation skills. He does use a bit of his UM after reader already consents, and I refer to his magic as hypnosis, playing into the fact that you're obedient to him and he can use you as he pleases. There is a MAJOR VOYEURISM theme to this. He calls you names like "good girl", "slut" and "whore". In part 1 he helps bring you to clitoral orgasm for the first time while he jerks himself off. Also a few lines of cunnilingus and some fingering. Shibari bondage starts in part 2, additional warnings will be listed there. Please let me know in the comments if I missed a warning or tag idk I haven't written something of this caliber before. ༶༶༶ 🌟 word count: 7.2k words because I'm DERANGED ༶༶༶ 🌟 song: Carousel - Melanie Martinez "And it's all fun and games... 'til somebody falls in love"

Fellow Honest’s tail swung back and forth. He had certainly done his research, and all of that hard work would finally pay off. He watched as you entered the theme park, skulking in the shadows behind the rest of the students. You struck him as an outcast—no friends, no family. A beautiful girl from another world, with a figure that would make even the Gods themselves lust after. The only magicless human girl at the all boy’s magic college. Nothing to lose. How perfect.

“Hello, Miss…?” Fellow’s eyebrow raises as he tilts his head, leaning towards you on his cane. His calculated, fox-like eyes drink in every inch of you. Extending his right arm out to you, he welcomes your hand into his.

“Y/N,” you answer, a bit startled at his overt friendliness. Yet, you allow his white satin glove to grasp firmly around your hand.

“What a lovely name for such a breathtaking woman.” He bows forward to kiss your hand, maintaining fierce eye contact. In one swift motion, he turns toward his amusement park, wipes his mouth clean of your touch, and proudly waves his arm in the air to show off his property.

“Miss Y/N! Welcome to Playfulland!” he boasts. He turns back toward you, weaseling his way deeper into your personal space. “It is an incredibly rare occasion to welcome someone as beautiful as you into my humble little park.”

You dismiss his praise with a flick of your palm and a shake of your head, desperately hoping not to blush. “Oh, no need to be so modest, dear. A shape like yours could make any man fall in love. I doubt the students at the college are the only ones that appreciate it.” A sly smile is plastered on his face while his eyes continue to look you up and down with intention. Your mind runs wild as you try not to absolutely melt into his praise. “Are you sure you’re not a talking doll? It’s a marvel that a woman so flawless could exist.”

You smile softly and look to the ground, cheeks burning. You tuck a strand of hair awkwardly behind your ear, stalling for composure. How are you supposed to respond to a handsome, magnetic stranger saying all the right things? Not a single soul has spoken so highly of you since you found yourself trapped in this world, forced to attend Night Raven College. Your growing ego leaves you no choice but to soak it all in.

“Tell me, Miss Y/N. Have you ever thought about becoming a performer?” He doesn’t pause to let you answer. “Why waste your valuable early 20’s by studying and attending lectures and surrounding yourself with pathetic boys? Women as blessed as you are don’t need a degree. Surely a wealthy man can care for you far beyond a measly degree. And while you wait for him, why not fill your days with fame, riches, and adoration from performing on my stage?”

You stand in a stunned silence. This guy isn’t holding anything back, is he? Charm and charisma ooze from each syllable, making your heart race. It feels a little wrong, basking in the praise of a stranger like this. But you feel beyond lonely and underappreciated at NRC. You long to feel wanted and cared about. Why not give this attractive, complimentary man a chance?

Before you know it, the fox beastman's arms are wrapped around your torso, pulling you closer to him. "Oh, how rude I am!" he exclaims. "I haven't even given you my name."

"Allow me to properly introduce myself." With a quick spin of his heels, he steps back and bows, taking your hand once again. "The name's Fellow Honest, owner of Playfulland." He lifts his head, keeping his eyes locked on yours. "But please, you're welcome to call me whatever you'd like." He winks.

You could have sworn you felt a physical spark. Suddenly lightheaded, you pull your hand from his grasp, heart pounding in your chest. You can't take your eyes off him. You can't tell if your nervous system is trying to tell you to run towards or away from him. The longer you stare into his fire-orange eyes, the weaker your knees feel. He’s so close you can feel the heat emanating off of his body—is his perfume made of magic?

Something inside of you urges you to step away and re-evaluate. "Uh... I should probably get back to my friends," you stammer, trying to get your legs to move. "I'm sure they're wondering where I went. Thank you for the, uh, offer, though. I’ll think about it."

Fellow's arm is suddenly around your waist yet again, his fingers pressed firmly against your lower back as he pulls you close. Your eyes widen and your breathing hitches as you make contact with his chest. You feel his lips brush against your ear, and he whispers, "I have to insist, my dear. My employees are quite skilled, but you'd be the best thing that has graced my stage in years. It would be an honor to have someone of your caliber work for me."

His proximity. His hot breath on your ear. His possessive touch digging into the soft skin of your back. You feel a familiar flutter deep in between your thighs—you like this. You want to protest, to push him away, but the electricity between you is hypnotizing. His aroma—sweet wine and fresh roses—only adds to the spell, drowning out all logic and giving way to your body’s desperate pleas to take the lead.

"I have an office inside the theater where we can discuss this further, if you'd like," he purrs, and you can feel his lips curve into a smirk against your skin. "And please, take all the time you need. You're welcome to stay the night. We have luxurious rooms available—a small taste of the lifestyle you’d have if you make the right choice. I'll have someone escort you back to campus if you change your mind."

Your eyes dart around, desperately looking for a familiar face—a way out. Where the Hell did Ace go?! What about Leona or Trey–surely your upperclassmen should have stuck around to make sure the only magically defenseless student isn’t being taken advantage of by any sexy, suspicious strangers. Not to mention the fact that you’re the only girl at school. Chivalry must be extinct in Twisted Wonderland. You feel your heart drop: maybe they never cared about you at all.

Fellow's tail flicks in excitement as he watches your expression. Your eyes are wide and panicked, and he can sense your desperation. He smothers his own smile as your body language slowly indicates defeat. How utterly effortless! He has you right where he wants you. You're his to play with, and no one is there to stop him.

"Come now, dear, it won't hurt to indulge a little," Fellow coos sweetly. Your brain short circuits, blocking all thoughts unrelated to the electrifying feeling of his slender fingers dancing along your waistline. "You're already here! Why not stay and have some fun?" His lips find their way to your neck and you let out a soft gasp as a pulsing warmth radiates from your cunt.

"Fine," you finally whisper.

Fellow chuckles victoriously against your skin, the vibration sending shivers down your spine. "I knew you’d be such a good girl." He spins you around, the sexual tension forcibly dissipating as he rips you from your lascivious thoughts and begins walking you down the cobblestone path. His hand rests on the small of your back, and his cane taps merrily against the concrete as you go. Your mind is still reeling from the shocking exchange, and you can barely match his pace as he escorts you to the grand theater.

You stifle a blush as you hear park goers whisper amongst themselves, eyes glued on you, mouths falling open. "Who is that? Is she a celebrity?”

“She looks like a supermodel,” a woman chimes in, her tone covetous.

Fellow would never waste an opportunity for free advertisement. He turns his head toward the group as you both keep walking. “Stick around ‘til after dark and you might just see this beauty show it all off on my grand stage!” He shouts, waving his cane in the air.

The two of you enter the theater and Fellow wastes no time leading you up the stairs toward a private hallway. His hand never leaves your waist. You pass several doors before reaching a pair of large, heavy wooden doors, which Fellow opens with ease.

You can't help but gawk at the size of his office. A massive, ornate wooden desk sits in the middle of the room, flanked by shelves lined with books and trinkets. There's a fireplace and two plush leather couches, as well as a small bar in the corner of the room.

"Please, make yourself at home," Fellow says as he closes the door behind him. He makes his way over to the bar, grabbing a bottle of wine with two glasses. You perch on one of the leather couches and he joins you, placing the wine and glasses on the table in front of you. As you inspect his office, you can't help but feel drawn to a mannequin adorned with a gorgeous bejeweled brassiere and matching pants—if there’s enough coverage to even call them that. Your faces heat up, and you quickly turn away.

"Beautiful, isn't it? One of my favorites," Fellow says, following your gaze. "Unfortunately, no one has had the pleasure of modeling it just yet." He furrows his brows in disappointment. He pops the cork on the wine bottle and begins to pour. "Maybe tonight will be the night. How lucky for me that I have the perfect model."

Something is starting to feel very exciting about all of this. You’ve never had an opportunity to wear such a costume. After being enrolled in Night Raven College only because Crowley didn't know what else to do with you, being here is starting to feel quite freeing. And the way Fellow looks at you… you’ve never felt more attractive. Adrenaline pumps through your veins, gifting you the courage and desire to be exactly who he believes you to be.

"Would you like to try it on?"

The question catches you off guard. He's now looking smugly at you. Your cheeks flush red, but you hold eye contact.

"Wh-what?"

"The outfit, Darling," Fellow says, nodding his head toward the mannequin. "You can try it on if you'd like." You take a long sip of red wine, savoring the smooth fruitiness. It immediately goes to your head, and you can't help but down the rest of it.

"Come now, Love," Fellow says, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "We both know what you want."

You stare at the outfit and then back at him. Your whole body feels like it's on fire. This is a bad idea, right? Or is it?

"Okay," you say, almost surprising yourself.

Fellow claps his hands together in delight. "Wonderful! Don't worry, I'm a gentleman—I'll look away while you get changed."

You make your way over to the mannequin, wobbling a bit from the alcohol. The bra is a dark purple while the jewels are varying shades of blue, making the whole outfit glitter like the night sky. The "pants" are a matching, dark purple lace thong, with ribbon and jewel embellishments. There is a sparkling, sheer miniskirt attached, more of an accentuation than actual coverage. You reach out to touch the fabric, marveling at how silky it feels. It's so sexy. Imagining yourself wearing it on stage in front of thousands of people, with everyone staring at you, craving you, makes you a bit wet with excitement. Maybe you do want this.

You look at Fellow one more time to ensure he’s not peeping.

Reader, take note that Fellow is, in fact, peeping—through his pocket mirror that he is blocking with his body. He’s far too good at this.

Feeling secure, you unbutton your uniform blazer, letting it slide off your shoulders and onto the floor. You undo the buttons of your shirt next, slowly exposing your bare chest.

Fellow bites his lip as he stares into the mirror, watching in awe as you undress. Your body is even more incredible than he could have imagined.

You slip off your shorts and underwear next, leaving you completely naked except for your bra. Your hands fumble a bit as you unhook the costume, letting it fall to the floor.

Fellow feels his pants tighten.

You can feel yourself getting more aroused, the excitement of being naked in a room with a stranger—soon to show off a revealing costume—starts to go to your head. You grab the brassiere off the mannequin, throwing your arms through the loops, eager to see if you look as good in it as you hope you will.

Fellow takes his sweet time watching in the pocket mirror. He grins, pleased with your inexperience, watching carefully so that he can see every inch of your struggle, savoring in it. “Oh, how easy this is,” he thinks.

After finally finding the right combination of hooks and clasps, you manage to get the brassiere fastened. You gasp softly, feeling the cool jewels press against your nipples through sheer fabric. You can't help but feel like it was made specially for you. The way it pulls your boobs together to create perfect, plump cleavage gives you actual pride. You shimmy the panties on next, loving the way the lacy fabric rubs against your clit as you pull the thong taut against your hips—a tingling reminder that your body is desperate for any sort of friction that may be interpreted as pleasure. You give your ass a little shake as you put on the skirt, reveling in how good the material feels as it brushes against your bare skin. Engrossed in your own experience, you’re completely unaware that you're giving Fellow quite the show.

He can't help but lick his lips, reaching down to massage his groin through his slacks.

You spin around and strike a pose for your imaginary crowd, feeling powerful.

"Are you ready, my love?" Fellow asks, startling you out of your daydream.

He pockets his mirror and adjusts the front of his pants, trying to disguise his erection as best he can.

"I'm ready."

"Show me what you've got," he says. You both turn around to face each other and he gasps, his eyes widening and mouth falling open.

"My goodness, darling," he whispers. "You're exquisite."

The way he's looking at you makes you feel like the sexiest woman alive. You take a step forward, heart pounding in your chest. Fellow stands up, taking his cane in his hand. He walks over to you and stalks circles around you, gazing up and down as though inspecting merchandise. You yelp as his cold, hard cane smacks your ass.

Finally he stops directly in front of you, meeting your gaze once again. "Oh, Darling, you're an absolute vision." He cups your cheek with his hand, rubbing his thumb across your lips. He wears a sinister smile, and you feel your mouth run dry as you finally realize how sharp his fangs are. You're almost certain he can tell how turned on you are right now.

He pulls away to replenish your wine glass.

"I can't wait to see you dance, my dear. You're going to be a star." He gazes dramatically into the distance, waving his hand like he’s envisioning your name written in dazzling lights. He hands you the full glass and you gulp it down greedily, eager for the liquid courage. You don't even care that this man is a total stranger—it actually makes it hotter.

"Oh, one more thing," Fellow says. He stands up and walks over to the mannequin, opening a drawer next to it and grabbing a matching set of lacy thigh highs. He kneels down in front of you, and you rest your hand on his shoulder as he slips the stockings onto your feet. He repeats the process on your other leg, taking his time to run his hands up and down your thighs.

You bite your lip and look away, feeling embarrassed by how wet you are. He's so close to where you want him to touch you, and you're not sure how much longer you can stand this before giving in and doing something you might later regret.

Fellow stands up, his hands gliding up your legs as he does. He gently grabs your chin and tilts your head up so you're forced to look at him.

"What a naughty little minx," he whispers. "You're practically dripping." He smirks, once again bearing his fangs in the process.

Your eyes widen, cheeks flushing pink.

Fellow laughs. "Oh, there's no use hiding it, love. I can smell it." He takes a deep breath, inhaling the scent of your arousal. "It’s heavenly."

God dammit. You can't help but throw your head back in frustration from being outed so easily. Never underestimate a beastman's sense of smell.

He lets go of your chin and steps away from you. You let out a shaky breath you didn't realize you were holding.

"Don't worry, darling," he says, making his way back to the bar. "I'll make sure you're properly taken care of." He refills his glass and downs it. He doesn't know how long he's going to be able to wait until he's inside you.

You try to get back on track to a more... professional topic. "So, is this the type of outfit I would wear if I were to perform?" You try to sound as innocent as possible.

Fellow laughs a slow, deranged, almost maniacal laugh that makes your skin crawl. "Oh, no, darling. Outfits like these are reserved for the backup dancers. With the plans I have for you, you'll be wearing far less." He sets his wine glass on his desk and opens one of the drawers, pulling out a roll of thin, dark brown rope. Your heart pounds in your chest as he walks toward you, unraveling the rope as he goes.

You stumble backwards instinctively and even in your drunken haze, you start trying to take note of your surroundings and look for the exit. "Is this a joke?" you ask, trying to sound as calm as possible. "You know you don't need to tie me up if you want me to stay, right?" You try your best to reason with him and hope to God you didn’t put yourself in harm’s way.

"Oh, I'm not tying you up to get you to stay, Miss Y/N." He puts on his most pleasant and agreeable facial expression, lips contorting into an innocent cat-like smile, eyes crinkled as he feigns benevolence. "It smells to me like you'd do that all on your own. Am I correct?" He tilts his head toward you and gazes into your soul with piercing, knowing eyes.

He makes a show of walking over to the door and opening it, waving his hand through the open air of the doorframe. "Make no mistake, I'm certainly not forcing you to stay here. You are welcome to leave right now. I'll even let you keep the outfit, if you’d like." He gives you a knowing smirk and continues to hold the door open.

You gulp, feeling the familiar heat between your thighs grow stronger. Your mind is racing, trying to think of every possible rationalization to feel safe staying—anything to get your pussy the relief it deserves. If he really was a predator—you try to reason with yourself—you'd probably be dead by now. And he was right, you do feel like you could get off, just from being tied up. Your body seems to be the decision-maker here, and it’s telling you to stay.

You shake your head at his offer. "No, I'm good."

"Wonderful," he purrs, his expression darkening. He slams the door shut and turns the lock, letting the thud of the door ricochet through your body. "Now then! The reason I am tying you up is for your performance. Just a few short hours until showtime!" He steps forward, closing the gap between you. He runs his fingertips down your bare arm, stopping to wrap them around your wrist. You shiver at his touch, your body instinctively leaning toward him, yearning for more. Your face flushes red with embarrassment and arousal. You don't understand how he's able to turn you on so easily.

"You see, my dear," Fellow begins, his voice soft and seductive, "I'm not the only one who's been watching you hungrily." You feel his hot breath on your neck as he brings his lips close to your ear. "Believe me, Doll, they're going to love what they see." He takes your hand in his and places it on the bulge in his pants. His cock throbs beneath his clothes and your eyes widen at how big he is.

"I'm not just a magician, but a master of hypnosis as well," he elucidates.

He's never before been so forthcoming in his whole career, but there's just something about you that makes him want to be upfront.

Truthfully, he hasn't had to use any hypnosis magic at all to persuade you. No, you wanted this on your own. Despite your innocence and reluctance—you wanted him. His cold heart skips a beat at the thought. He releases your hand and once again cups your cheek. He pushes a thumb past your lips and forces you to suck on it. A deep moan escapes his lips as the sensation of your soft tongue against his thumb runs straight to his aching loins. Removing his thumb from your mouth, he slides it down your chin, tracing your jawline before moving to your neck. You arch your back and press your body against his, feeling the tip of his thumb press along your jugular, sending chills down your spine.

"And I can assure you that by the time I'm done with you, you'll be the perfect little hypnotized whore." You shudder as his tongue traces the side of your neck—it feels so good. He continues to drag his tongue up to your ear, and you moan loudly as he suckles your earlobe. Your knees are giving out, so you wrap your arms around him for support. "That's the beauty of my magic, love. No prior experience necessary. I'll ensure you put on the show of a lifetime. Simply allow yourself to enjoy the ride." You whimper softly, unable to form coherent thoughts or speak intelligibly, too caught up in the way he's pleasuring you.

"But don't worry, Love," he says, his voice low and raspy. "You'll still remember everything when we're done."

Your head is dizzy, trying desperately to process his every word. You can't stop yourself from moaning as his hands continue to explore. As far as the current circumstances go, nothing matters, as long as he’s making you feel this damn good. He takes his time groping and squeezing wherever—and whatever—he can get his greedy hands on, relishing in the opportunity to touch your perfect frame.

Looking into your eyes, he's suddenly overcome with emotion—unusual for him. This isn't something he's ever done with his employees, but there is a twinge in his chest willing him to do it. Perhaps—just this once—he can deviate from the script. Fellow hungrily crashes his lips against yours, kissing you passionately. You melt against him, opening your mouth to grant him entry. You feel yourself losing control as he dominates your mouth, exploring every inch with his tongue. You grip onto his hair, pulling him closer. His fangs lightly graze your bottom lip and it makes you shiver. The way he kisses you is so possessive and needy, and it's driving you wild. You've never been kissed like this before. His hands travel down your body and grip your ass tightly, causing you to yelp. Your hands claw at his blue coat and green vest, desperately trying to remove his clothes so you can feel his bare skin. He growls into your mouth before breaking the kiss.

"Eager little thing, aren't you?" he murmurs against your lips.

You nod in response, gasping when he suddenly pulls away. Seeing how needy you are, he smirks, delighted at how much you want him.

"Oh, Darling. Why don't you save that for the audience?" he teases. "You're going to put on a good show for them, aren't you?"

"Yes, I'll do my best. I promise I'll make you proud," you gasp, feeling even more aroused by his words.

"That's a good girl." Fellow paces the room, circling you like a vulture. You can feel his eyes on you and can't help but squirm under his gaze. He grabs the rope from earlier, stopping right in front of you. His cane appears in his grasp, seemingly out of thin air. "Such a perfect little slut, so eager to please. I bet you'd do anything I asked you to, wouldn't you?" he asks, spinning his cane with the flick of his fingers, utilizing his hypnosis magic for the first time that day. He needs to ensure your loyalty lies with him.

"Yes." You answer without reluctance.

Fellow's cane magically disappears from his hand. "Such a good little whore." He takes a strand of your hair in his fingers and twirls it before gently tucking it behind your ear. "Now, a few more formalities before we get you ready for the stage. Shall we?" You flinch at the sound of him smacking the rope against the floor, like he's trying to command a circus animal.

Your mind is fuzzy, body practically burning with desire—you don't even notice him guiding you to his desk. He bends you over the hard wood, your breasts and stomach pressing against the cool surface. He presses his body against yours, his erection grinding between your ass cheeks, and you can't help but moan. Fellow rips off his gloves, tossing them aside. His right hand snakes around your body and reaches into your panties, his fingers rubbing against your wet clit. He slips a finger inside you—finally.

"My, my…" he whispers. "So wet for me already. You’ll look so beautiful when you're on stage for everyone to see. My precious little toy."

Your breathe heavier as he continues to fuck you with his finger, tantalizingly slow. Just as you open your mouth to beg for more, he slips his finger out of you and slams a contract on the table in front of you.

"I need you to sign this first. Standard contract," he says casually. "This is a business, after all." He drops a pen within your reach. All the while, he continues grinding against you, his clothed cock rubbing against the sheer fabric of your panties, further tantalizing your throbbing clit. "Go ahead, Darling. I can't wait to show you off."

You sign your name on the dotted line, quickly dismissing what seems to be the final roadblock in your path to pleasure. There's nothing else in your psyche than how badly you need him to fuck you. Your pussy aches with desire—you can't wait any longer. "Please. Please, fuck me," you whimper, begging him to give you what you want.

"Oh, Darling," he purrs. "All in due time."

Fellow leans in close to your ear, his breath hot against your skin. "I wonder how many people will come tonight just to see this pretty little body of yours?" he asks. "How many men and women will stare at you, touching themselves as you writhe in pleasure? I bet you can't wait for them to see how much of a needy little whore you are. You were born to be a star." His voice is soft and seductive as he plays on your desperation.

"Now. Let's get you out of these clothes." He expertly unhooks your bra with a single hand. With a swift yank, it falls to the floor, revealing your perfect tits, hard nipples on full display. "Beautiful. So deliciously plump and round, my flawless doll."

You're still bent over the table as his fingers snake into the elastic waistband of your skimpy skirt and thong. He pulls it taut, ready to tear it right off of you... but he hesitates, remembering its one-of-a-kind value. Squatting slightly, he gently pulls your skirt and panties to the floor, utilizing the opportunity to bask in the aroma and view of your now-exposed pussy. He grabs your thighs where the stockings are and, quite impatient, rolls them down as his fingernails trail lines down the flesh of your legs in the process. He guides your feet out of each leg hole, revealing your full nudity. Seeing your juices glisten makes his eyes light up, mouth curling into a grin. His mouth waters and he inhales deeply, savoring your sweet scent. He can't help but lean for a taste, his tongue gliding against your folds and lapping up your essence. Your knees buckle as his warm, wet tongue explores your deprived cunt. Nothing has ever felt so good. Your entire body trembles and you cry out in pleasure. He keeps his hands firmly planted on your ass, holding you in place as he continues to lap up your pussy. It feels so good, it's almost painful. He pulls away after a moment and you whimper at the loss of contact.

"So, tell me, Love. Are you a virgin?" he asks with a sneaking suspicion. He traces his fingertips down your spine, awaiting your response.

You shudder, the feeling of his fingers on your bare skin is so tantalizing. "Yes," you answer, unable to hold back your excitement.

Fellow's eyes widen, surprised by how easy it was to get you to admit that. He smirks, continuing to caress your back. "Ah, perfect," he hums. "What a privilege it is to deflower you." He reaches for his phone on his desk and utilizes the speech to text feature to say one thing: “We’ve got a virgin.” He clicks the display off and gives you a wink. "The marketing team will start advertising for a very special show tonight. I wonder how many people will come to watch me break in a virgin? I'm sure we'll sell out! An incredibly rare specimen indeed."

His words send a chill down your spine. The thought of thousands of people watching you lose your virginity excites you even further, and you find yourself becoming increasingly aroused. Your whole body is hot—you can't help but squirm as your juices slowly drip down both legs. You shudder, picturing an entire audience getting aroused, their attention rapt on you. Just the thought of how many people will want you... all of those horny people, with their eager bodies and impatient erections at the sight of you losing your innocence. A hot sensation pools deep in your belly and your clit throbs with need. You roll your hips back toward him, wordlessly indicating your desires.

He pockets his phone, delighted that the plan is progressing so flawlessly. "Tell me, my dear, have you ever orgasmed before?" You feel the heat rise in your cheeks, and you shake your head. He grins, leaning in closer, his tail swishing between his legs and up onto your throbbing clit. It tickles so good. "Have you ever touched yourself?" Your body heats up, and a wave of shyness washes over you as you attempt to suppress a groan. He already knows the answer, but he wants to hear you say it. He wants you to surrender yourself completely. "What a beautiful thing, modesty…" he muses. "Tell me, Dear. No need to be so shy." Your face is turning a dark crimson, and he's never found something so appealing in all his years.

"No. Not successfully," you answer softly. You've never been able to get yourself off. Your hands would wander as you'd lie in bed, desperate to find some sort of relief, but it never came. You've never had that pleasure before, and you were starting to think you may never experience it.

"Oh, Darling, you poor thing. I'll have to take care of that for you. I know all the tricks.” Hearing the zipper of his pants, you gasp in anticipation. He takes his cock out of his boxers and you feel the flesh of his hardened tip slide over your wet labia. He takes your hand in his and guides it to your clit, teaching you how to circle your fingers around it in the perfect motion.

"Just like that, Love," he whispers, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "You're doing so well. Doesn't that feel good?" You moan softly as he continues to guide you, his free hand on his cock, sliding up and down its length, using your never-ending juices as lubrication. He bucks his hips slightly as he starts to jerk himself off, letting out a quiet moan, teasing himself and rubbing his cock head against the sopping wet folds of your untouched pussy—knowing he has to save it if he wants a fruitful show. The way your face contorts and your lips part with desperate pleasure, he suddenly has to fight himself not to lose control and break your hymen right then and there.

Knowing that Fellow can’t help but touch himself to you amplifies the pleasure even further. Your fingers continue to dance over your clit and for the first time, it feels amazing. Every nerve in your body is electrified, your breath coming in short pants. Your hand feels like it's floating through space as he moves you like a puppet, directing your motions the way that he wants you. He rubs himself a bit faster as he watches you writhing, becoming more desperate and vocal than before. His own lust becomes insatiable. He’s sculpting you into the perfect masterpiece, just the way he likes it—his own custom sex toy.

"Just imagine all those people in the audience," he murmurs. His hand quickens on his cock and he groans. His hand over yours speeds up to match his pace, and he adds more pressure to show you exactly how to pleasure yourself. "All of those hungry eyes on you, craving every inch of you…" His hips jerk slightly and he moans, losing himself to his own dirty thoughts. Your clit is throbbing so painfully that tears begin to form at the edges of your eyes. He has never seen anyone become so intoxicated with the simple idea of him before, and you don't even realize how loud and desperate your moans and cries have become. His face flushes every time you scream his name, and your beautiful expression fills him with the greatest satisfaction, an image forever imprinted in his brain. The sight of you, so eager to please him—he knows now that he'll never let you go.

You feel yourself approaching explosion—the very first time—and your muscles tense in response. "Oh, fuck, every single one of them will be touching themselves, getting off to the sight of you, desperate to be where I am right now. And here you are, moaning my name as I prepare you, just aching for me to bring you to your first orgasm. You'll look so beautiful when I pop that sweet little cherry of yours."

He groans and bucks his hips, jerking himself off faster and faster. Your clit throbs, ready to explode. "You want to cum, don't you, darling?" His voice is low and husky, and he pants heavily. "Cum for me, darling, cum for me. I want to hear you scream for me." Your toes curl, knees buckling in ecstasy. He guides your hand even faster over your clit. "That's it, Love, just let go." His voice is the sweet encouragement that pushes you over the edge, almost on command. You feel a strange electricity ripple through your leg muscles, a release that exceeds every single thing you thought you knew about pleasure.

Your first true orgasm rips through your body like a tornado, tearing apart any inhibitions and preconceived notions about reality. Everything around you turns bright white as euphoria sweeps through your body, wave after wave leaving you moaning and shaking uncontrollably in his arms. Your legs feel like jelly, and it becomes impossible to hold yourself up. His fingers leave yours, transferring their tight grip to your hair, forcing you to maintain eye contact with him as he fucks himself furiously to the sight of you. You were like putty in his hand, melting and molding according to his wishes—a perfect, brainwashed, fucked-out little slut.

Fellow lets out a strained grunt as he orgasms, painting your ass with his seed. He can't help but sigh in pleasure as he gazes lovingly at the blank and pliant expression on your face as he drains the rest of himself onto you. He sighs as his last spurts dribble from the tip of his cock, admiring how much he's marked you as his. You're still shaking and whimpering as you come down from your high, your face contorted in pleasure, your eyes glazed over and staring into nothing. You look absolutely fucked out, and he takes a moment to admire your blissful expression before finally releasing you from his grip. He gives you a small push, causing you to fall forward onto your hands. He takes a step back to admire his handiwork—your thighs are soaked with your own cum, and your ass is dripping with his.

"Such a good girl," he praises. "You did such a good job for me. You're going to be the best performer I’ve ever had. It's about time we take you to the stage to get you set up, my dear. You’re better than I could have ever imagined.” You can only gasp, too wrecked from your pleasure to respond in words. Fellow grins with satisfaction, memorizing the sight of his seed glistening all over your back, chuckling to himself as he wipes it off with a tissue. He tosses the tissue into a random corner of his office and then helps you find your footing again.

Gently lifting your chin, his gaze softens, mouth opening to form a gentle smirk. His thumb brushes against your trembling bottom lip, a caring and fond expression overtaking his features.

Your heart leaps into your throat as you begin to question the warmth in his smile and his affectionate gaze. Is your body's chemical response misreading signals, or are you witnessing evidence that Fellow perhaps has a bit more going on than simply taking sexual interest? A new, deeper desire to understand the mysterious man behind the curtain of your own experience begins to bloom in your mind. You lean into his touch, your eyes fluttering shut as his hand cups your cheek. He leans down and places a gentle kiss on your lips and you return it, savoring the way his soft lips feel against yours. It feels so intimate, like a lover's kiss, and your heart flutters in your chest. You pull away and look into his eyes once more, trying to figure out what he's thinking, but you can't read his expression. His face is completely unreadable, granting you no indication as to whether you're making any progress in decoding him.

He takes off his coat and helps you put it on, wrapping you up to ensure your modesty is protected for your short walk to the stage. He takes your hand and guides you out of his office, your legs still shaking from climax.

You walk together in silence, hand in hand, your head still spinning as you try to process everything that just happened. You can't believe how incredible your first orgasm felt, and you're already craving another.

"What are you thinking about, Darling?"

"I'm thinking about how I’ve never felt that good before," you admit, blushing slightly.

Fellow chuckles. "That's very sweet," he says. "I'm glad you enjoyed it. I'll be sure to give you many more orgasms in the future." His grip on your hand tightens slightly, and you can't help but feel a sense of longing for him.

You continue walking in silence until you arrive at the stage. Fellow stops in front of the stage door and turns to face you.

"Are you ready, Love?" he asks, his voice gentle. He takes both of your hands in his and brings them to his lips, kissing your knuckles softly. His carnelian gaze holds yours, his hot breath dancing across your fingers. “I’ll be with you every step of the way.” Your heart swells and you feel yourself melting.

You nod enthusiastically and squeeze his hands, hoping he doesn't pick up on your nervous, pounding heartbeat. "I'm ready," you affirm, gazing intently into his beautiful, half-lidded eyes, feeling braver and more confident than you have all day.

He flashes a subtle smile. "Wonderful." He gives you one last peck on the cheek before turning to open the stage door. He places his free hand on your lower back and guides you onto the stage, leading you towards the center, where the lighting crew are busy at work. He introduces you and makes a show of presenting you to the crew—holding out your arm like he would for a debutante entering a ball, a prince presenting his chosen partner to a ballroom dance. The crew whistle and holler as you walk onto the stage. All you can do is stand there with the distinct smile of a hypnotized-yet-willing participant in the world's most eccentric 18+ theater. Their ogling is the furthest thing from your mind, as your attention remains firmly rooted on the charismatic manager in your grasp.

"Sorry, Boys. This one is mine. No one can have her but me." He places his hand on the side of your arm and pulls you close to him, draping an arm over your waist possessively.

As you glance up, your breath catches and your heart skips a beat; your adoring, hungry gaze is returned by his, a mirror of your own emotions shining through in his flaming irises. There's something strange about his stare—there always is. His face betrays some of that vulnerability again, an instance where he's truly letting his guard down, a crack in his meticulous and calculated visage. It’s a warm hint of softness that signals what he said to the crew might ring true outside of these walls as well.

Fellow turns back toward the crew as a new scene is placed before them, and within a split second, he resumes his demeanor of a business-oriented gentleman. "One hour ‘til showtime. Make her shine, People! We want the audience drooling the second she gets on stage!" He holds out his hand, his cane reappearing like magic. "Have fun in makeup!" He winks at you, the flick of his head gesturing you away.

Stylists appear behind you, and you reluctantly release your hold on him. He flashes a reassuring smile as you are guided away, a bewitchingly charming smile settling onto his lips. You head backstage, and he turns to get back to business.

Damn, if you made it all the way down here... wow. Thank you so much for spending this time with me. If you enjoyed this, that means a lot to me because this is pretty much just a self indulgent fic I started writing as soon as Fellow dropped without really knowing too much about him. I haven't begun writing part two, but I have my general ideas of where I want it to go. If you have suggestions for part two, please comment or send me an ask, I'd love to hear your thoughts! ❤️ Erica Malleleothreesome

#Fellow Honest #Fellow Honest Smut #Twisted Wonderland Smut #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader smut #twst smut #twst x reader smut #twst fellow honest x reader smut #twst fellow honest smut #ferro honest #ferro honest smut #twst fellow #twst ferro #fellow honest x reader #ferro honest x reader #twisted wonderland fellow honest #stage in playful land #my writing

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fuck-you-upmusicbracket · 3 months ago

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Welcome everyone, to the Fuck-You-Up Music Bracket - Round 2!!!!!

Ever had a song you can't get out of your head, a song that strips you down to your very being and leaves you with nothing? A song that you project onto your angstiest of blorbos? A song that hits you smack where you live? Or how about a song that you just really enjoy?

Then this is the place for you! We're reopening submissions for a second bracket, to crown a new champion as the ultimate fuck-you-up ballard of tumblr!

Submission Rules

Don't resubmit songs that were in the first bracket. They won't be allowed in. I've put the first bracket under the read more, so you can check before you submit. Unfortunately there is no spreadsheet version, but you can search my blog for the artists of previous rounds

You can resubmit songs that were submitted to the first bracket, but didn't make it in

Submissions for the previous bracket closed on 26th of May 2023. Any music released since then is fair game

Submissions will aim to stay open for a week, but if I get a crazy amount, they will close sooner

Because it took me so long to sort through them last time, I'm aiming to cap submissions at 600, with a bracket size of around approximately 512, but this may change

This probably goes without saying, but don't re-submit the same song multiple times. It makes my job harder, and chances are someone submitted the same song as you already

Songs from movies, musicals, TV shows, video games and other media are allowed!

As are scores and soundtracks and songs without lyrics!

Songs in languages other than English are allowed too!

Songs must be at least remotely fuck-you-up-ish. You must be able to justify its place in the tournament

You can rant about whatever blorbo you project your song onto in your descriptions, it helps me understand your reasoning better :)

Songs created by problematic bands/artists/media are allowed. However, I am not in control of how quickly it might get voted off

Propaganda is allowed and encouraged! No slander though

Submissions close on 14th of February 10:00AM (UK Time)

If there are any problems with the form or other questions, please send me an ask or message

Submissions are now closed

Tagging for visibility

@tournament-announcer @best-tournament-blog-bracket @ao3topshipsbracket @autismswagsummit @besttropeveershowdown @bl-bracket @champsinthemaking @controversial-blorbo-bracket @dysfunctional-family-fight @fandom-march-madness @fictional-gods-tournament @fictional-twink-bracket @gay-disabled-characters-showdown @gimmick-blog-bracket @girlbossmalewifetournament @goverment-agency-bracket @guess-that-ship @haveyouseenthisseries-poll @its-to-the-death @npd-characters-tournament @pokemonbattletournament @princesspoll @quote-tournament @sexiestpodcastcharacter @who-do-i-know-this-man @undertale-ost-tournament @variouspolltournaments @tragic-ships-tournament @do-you-ship-it-polls @midwest-emo-tournament

#fuck you up bracket #tournament #announcement

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just-a-sewer-goblin · 1 year ago

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Part 5 of Butcher!Simon x gn!reader Sorry guys this turned out crappy, I'm really unhappy with this one but I hope the next part will be better again. Finally we get to see readers perspective on things. Also name reveal of readers dog, finally. < Part 4 | COD Masterlist | Part 6 >

So there’s this new butcher. He’s kind of intimidating but he’s nice. At least you’re pretty sure he’s nice. He rarely speaks but the meat at that shop is the best so you power through the anxiety the big man induces (the first time you caught a glimpse of him you had to hide and gather your nerves before going inside).

God, he’s big. Built like a brick shithouse he looms over you even behind the counter. The fact that Wraith has to wait outside the shop makes you wring your fingers nervously on the regular. You’re happy that Simon, that’s what his name tag said, never gives off creep vibes.

Still, stepping into the shop always makes you want to curl in on yourself. Somehow the butcher has a way of taking up the entire room with his presence. The way he stands and moves makes you think he somehow got dominance drilled into his genes. Maybe if you go in often enough some of that will rub off on you, god knows you’d enjoy being a bit intimidating.

When he allows you to bring in Wraith with you, you reconsider. Simon isn’t just nice. He’s kind.

Sure he’s quiet and big and he could snap your neck with one hand (don’t think about that, don’t think about that) but he’s considerate. The consideration he showed for you also proved that he is scarily observant and you’re not sure you like that.

You hate being observed or looked at. You’d prefer to be a ghost, existing in the world but not being perceived. But since you don’t plan on dying anytime soon you got yourself your own personal bodyguard.

Wraith is the sweetest soul on earth and you’re not sure what you did to find him. He saved you in more ways than one and it seems you saved the scarred and tired dog too.

Being allowed to bring him into the shop with you helps a lot. As big and scary as the butcher is, Wraith could do serious damage to him if he so much as raised a hand against you.

So you’re pretty confident nowadays when you go to buy Wraith’s treats. Over time Simon has grown to be a new part of your routine and you don’t mind him anymore. He might be a goddamn intense man but he’s proven himself to be nice (you just pray that your intuition isn’t wrong with him).

You’d even say you’re more or less comfortable around him by now so when you walk in one day and hear one of your favorite songs play you can’t contain yourself. Maybe you’re making a fool of yourself in front of the butcher but the way he chuckles immediately soothes you. He doesn’t seem to judge you at all.

Still you’d be mortified by yourself (you can’t remember the last time you were yourself that much anywhere besides your own four walls) if Simon didn’t smile at you behind his mask and oh... His eyes are kind and sparkle lively with mirth; you’ve never seen him have an expression like that before.

Suddenly you realize how hidden the man keeps himself. Always behind a mask never any unnecessary movements, always controlled. To see his eyes so expressive is kind of a shock. But it’s a good shock, you decide.

It’s the first real conversation you have with him and it’s about music. That immediately makes you warm up to him even more. So much so, that you end up admitting that you don’t want to go to a concert alone.

You’ve barely recovered from making a fool of yourself and having the first real conversation with the butcher, when he pulls the rug out from under your feet:

”I’m planning on going to that concert, wanna join me? I’ll make sure you’re safe, sweetheart.”

#the sewer writes #simon ghost riley x reader #simon x reader #simon riley x reader #butcher!simon x gn!reader #au #cod x reader

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jinogasux-fr · 5 months ago

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PSA: This petsite is too good and it needs more attention (4dopt)

Subtitle: no seriously the customization and how artist-friendly it is is KILLING ME

I'm sorry I have immense brainrot I NEED to talk about this okay SO let me tell you guys about this petsite I discovered a few weeks ago called 4dopt.com.

For the love of god please try this game out (check out the read more for... more info!)

TLDR; You can draw your own species and it'll be added to the game. Players can obtain that species and recolor them to make customs of them if you so choose. You can draw your own items too which can be used for species obtainment and raising stats.

In 4dopt, you can obtain adopts (or pets) through various means, such as using items, getting them from the shelter (which have been discarded by other players), or through the adventure/exploration system as a random encounter.

The fun part? The adopts and items are player-created. Like, I'm talking entire species and items that can increase an adopt's stats or generate a new adopt entirely from them. They're drawn, created, and controlled by the players. Another thing is that these adopts can be completely customizable. You can recolor them, give it different patterns (if available), change the lineart or shading, but only so long as the creator allows it. That's another thing - there is SO much control the creator has over their creations. It's all up to the creator to design different patterns and layers to the adopt, as well as give permissions as to what a player can and can't customize.

There's over 1,000 adopts to collect (and possibly customize) by the way, and more are coming! (It's been a BLAST watching the Discord and seeing all the future adopt WIPs people have been doing ;w;)

I can't describe in proper words how extensive the customization is. Getting the full scope of what I mean is a little difficult unless you've seen it for yourself, so here's a screenshot of me going through some recoloring!

Aaand because I can't help myself, here's a mini showcase of the adopts I've recolored!

the species of each adopt, in order are: caprine, oldwood witch, and paint bird

In addition, creators can control the adopt's gender ratio, what items it comes from (if any), which exploration areas it comes from (if any) (as well as their rarities), and more. You want an adopt to be a seasonal-only thing? Go for it and put it in one of the rotating exploration areas or shops! You want to make a specific pattern of an adopt only available by using a certain item? Do it! I'd hunt one down for that!

A creator can make evolutions of their adopt, which can have different requirements, as well as a stats system which can be renamed to be more thematic to an adopt. (For example, I have an adopt whose Health stat is renamed to Size, due to it requiring to get a big size for it to evolve. These stats can also be used as requirements to put certain patterns or anatomical changes or etc to an adopt when customizing it.)

You may be thinking - oh, but being able to create an adopt/item is probably difficult, right? Nope! All you need to do is have your account be level 10, which, with some exploration, takes no time at all. I did it in under an hour! And then submit a small portfolio of your previous work to gain access to an artist panel, linked here (if you're logged in).

4dopt welcomes all artists, whether you're a beginner or you've been drawing for years, so there's no worries on if you're "good enough" or not. (YOU ALWAYS ARE!!!) If you have an idea, just make it, and chances are, us players will eat it up.

Anyways lightning round of more features:

A tagging system where, if you block a tag (like gore or body horror), all adopt species that fall under that tag will not be shown to you.

A weekly contest where you can show off your adopts as well as vote for others' adopts, and at the end of the week, the top votes get some nice rewards!

A breeding system where the offspring will have a combination of the markings/layers of the parents

Collaboration friendly (wanna create an adopt with a friend? fully supported!)

Read funny and weird blurbs that players have submitted (oh yeah you can submit little blurbs too) to exploration.

The game JUST shifted from registration windows to open registration, so I hope more people give this game a try. It's super underrated and deserves more attention!

Here's the site link again, and if you want to use a referral ID, mine is #3761, though you don't have to. I really don't care I just want more people to JOIN!!!!

Anyways I'm gunna end this post with a couple of guides:

Unofficial FAQ

Species Making Tutorial

Oh, and if you join, let me know your user id and I'll send you some goodies to help jumpstart things!!

anyways thanks for reading my yapping and uhhh if you do join i hope you enjoy!!

#jin posts #4dopt #virtual pet site #virtual pet game #virtual petsite #virtual pet

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soupcafe · 1 month ago

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I have written and rewritten this post so many times after taking time to really gather my thoughts and sit with everything that has transpired in the last two weeks. If I'm being honest.. what has transpired the last three years of running the FindRPs server. Under the cut if you want to read. Warning: it's really fucking long. Sorry about it.

God I don't even know where to start, okay.

I have always tried to do my best to remain neutral in most situations and show a face of calm collection when it came to matters in the server. As a leader there, I believed that being anything other than that would only show instability of myself and on the rest of the staff. I always tried to make it known that I was willing to hear people out, and ready to enact changes if it felt like the right thing to do for the collective.

I don't know if that was the right choice to make, but it certainly felt like it for me, so that's how I ran things.. that's how I encouraged the rest of staff to run things. I've already said this to the former staff, but I have nothing but the highest respect for the hard work they put into that server. All of us were running that place for free, but it felt like a full time job with the way people treated us both on the server and here on tumblr.

Our goal was to provide a space for various platforms to advertise their rp groups, post 1x1s, post their resources, ask for help from their community, and more. FindRPs all started because tumblr tags became notoriously unreliable, group rps weren't able to mass fill their queues, sideblogs were being shadowbanned and deleted left and right. Why not streamline it into one easy hub? Why not make a place for a community? I've seen it said a few times now that we should have learned our lesson and not had any general chat or allow conversation at all. How fucking sad is that? In a hobby where the whole purpose is writing a story together... collaborating.... and you all can't even handle or have the civility to have a general chat.

I don't claim to have made all the right decisions, or to have said the right thing in a moments time. But things could so very quickly go from zero to one hundred there. Within minutes people would be at each other's throats and god forbid anyone on staff have a real life and not take care of it within seconds. I can't count how many times I was at work, or a family function, or a doctors office, and I get the ping that something happened but I can't deal with it right then and there. The anxiety of knowing that it will be talked about in the tags, and that if I or another staff member isn't online to take care of it right that second, we will get shit for letting it happen.

Isn't that insane? That I couldn't go about my daily life and do normal things without thinking about you all having no decorum and going after one another like children?

I was getting anxiety from not looking at the server for more than an hour or two. I don't know how in the world I thought I was going to be able to handle having a newborn and focusing on something that is going to be one of the most amazing experiences of my life, knowing that all of this would be in the back of my mind. It wouldn't be fair to my kid... to my family. And yeah... maybe that's me taking it too seriously. But when you dedicate three years of your life to this, and have been in this community on tumblr for as long as I have.. you fear the loss of it.

Don't even get me started on the lack of communication. Any blog that decided to let anons and rumors come into play and pass judgement on us with lies or half the story over the course of the server's activity... you all are complicit. No one ever came to us with their opinions and issues — the first thing that was on anyone's mind was which rpt blog can I go to. So instead of handling things like adults, you all hid behind anon and let someone else post it for you.

Because why attempt to make an actual change by speaking to us when you can just judge and bully us instead? No one ever said maybe they need some help and I should offer to join the team. But why would you... when you could see how we were being treated. When you were the one treating us that way.

Anytime something happened in that server, my inbox would fill with anon messages of death threats or otherwise inflammatory and cruel statements against me. I always deleted them and gave them no merit because what is some fucking anon going to do to me in my real life? Nothing.

This time though.. I was simply done with it. I was looking at the server, at my own happiness, at my own life and where I was being led, and decided that it simply wasn't worth it to subject myself and the rest of the staff to it any longer. All of us were preparing major life changes and were having conversations about possibly stepping down and handing the server off. I'm sorry that a few people decided to ruin it for the rest of you who never did anything wrong. I would have loved to hand over the reins to someone else and let FindRPs live on as the needed resource it was, but you all can make your own servers as you've said many times that you want to do. You can spend three years growing it to nearly 3k members of all rp backgrounds and life backgrounds and you can make your rules exactly how you want them and to deal with things exactly how you want to deal with them... I sincerely hope it thrives for you.

I'm going to call out a few specific blogs from this situation because you are directly complicit in the spreading of this. JJ (galitzined), Nan (nanschman), Xan (jimiin), Jas (snoopdoggs), Veda (nosyrpt), and fluoresceins. All of you decided that it was okay to bully. Several of you decided to say that I was subjecting Hermie, a Palestinian mod, to coexisting with zionists knowingly.. when it has always been the case that if they made themselves known we would ban them and Hermie would be the one to do it. We realized too late that we missed one glaringly obvious one and Hermie got the satisfaction of banning them before FindRPs was deleted for good.

All of us in our real lives are putting in the work to make change, you know, where it matters the most. Personally for myself, I involve myself in local and state politics and actively ensure that I am voting for representatives that align with Palestine or at the very least is not interested in supporting Israel. I donate to fundraisers when I am able. Not that I ever owed any of you a list of what I am doing... but I have always stood with Palestine. I fucking hate JKR, and was a moderator who voted to ban it in the initial rule change. (Love that some of you are trying to say I've been extremely active in the HP RPC and have proof because.... bitch where?) But you know... you all will spin anything to fit your narrative.

I said it many times that everyone on staff, every single one of us, was part of a marginalized group one way or another. Half of us were trans, more than half were people of color, I think literally all of us are queer. So you all decided that the best thing to do was to hurt members of your own communities, hurt the people that you claim to stand up for... that's incredibly telling about the kind of people you are.

Mar made a post recently that I think all of you need to read and take to heart. Many of us are so disheartened by the lack of change that we are seeing in the real world that going hard within a small community like the one here is where you can get your satisfaction — because it seems simple in a smaller space where you can watch change happen in real time. Mar put it really well, better than I ever could, so here is a link for you to read it yourself.

We are actively driving people away from this community. Some of them are warranted, but a majority of it is over the most petty bullshit that could be solved if we weren't so catty and quick to jump to conclusions.

Shadow, I do want to apologize to you. You did not lead to the downfall of this server, it was a long time coming. And I agreed with all of the resources you gave, I agree with wanting to educate someone. What I failed to communicate effectively, and I do take responsibility for this, is that you didn't need to do it publicly. You could have DM'd Lumos and taken care of it outside of the server, which is really all we were trying to say in that statement we made: why in the world are we having these conversations in the general chat of a rp advertisement server when you can just... talk to the person directly. Or I don't know... use the block button. All of you need to learn how to use that more. And you did already apologize for necro-ing it... but I believe you knew what you were doing there. Even on a laptop you had to scroll up to see the interaction with Lumos and there was no way you missed the timestamps. It was not the first time you decided to use a public space in the server to be mean to someone, so, I don't believe that you didn't know what you were doing there. Regardless of being correct in the information you were spreading, you were an asshole. We gave you a warning that the behavior wouldn't be tolerated and yet you continued to harass Lumos so consequences of your actions were to be banned. Not because of what you said or how you went about it, but because you didn't know when to stop.

I don't think Lumos has tumblr to see all of this, and I literally deleted everything from the server — I have no logs of anything that happened anymore. But we did rail into them. We told them that what they were saying was fucked up and they should read into the resources. All of us were talking about banning them anyways, but we wanted to take the time to think things through, to step away and sit with it and decide. Once again, God Forbid we handle things like adults and have real lives and think before acting, especially with all of you shouting into the tags about how we were handling it. They were getting death threats, both in their dms and out in the open in the general chat. Like what the fuck. Who in their right mind thinks that's an okay thing to do?

Anyway, we tended to handle things there privately. We preferred it that way because no one needs their dirty laundry aired out in front of 3k people, and have them weigh in on it while we're trying to handle things. Just because you didn't see anything happening on your end, doesn't mean things weren't happening behind the scenes. And screenshots are always a thing; we have never feared someone taking them for their records. I sent the screenshots to JJ because Shadow left out an entire part of the conversation. I didn't send it to "make ourselves look better" as Nan so lovingly put it. I did it for transparency.

Maybe we could have been more transparent over certain things, I don't know. But also.. some situations are simply none of anyone's business.

Anyway. It's gone now. I mourn the loss of something that I truly put my heart, soul, and tears into. I helped to provide a resource for the community who does not deserve it for free for three years of my life. I met some of the most amazing writers in there that I never would have crossed paths with if not for the server.

It's time to move on from the greater rpc for me though. I don't know if I am going to continue to be on this blog. I really don't have a desire to at this time. I do know I will be writing with my rp group and continue keeping in touch with others on discord. That's really why I'm not afraid to post all of this and let you all pick it apart. I simply don't care anymore. I'm a week away from my due date, and ready to take the step into motherhood. I'm so excited for it. My blood pressure certainly thanks me.

I urge you all to take a good hard look at how you interact with this community. I want you all to take a look at the complaints that are made all the time and have been for years now — of groups not surviving, of no one writing, of people feeling hopeless, or judged. You actively create this space. You truly want to be the change? Do better for the rpc then. Be kind, and if you can't do that, block and move on. The people you don't like and you don't agree with are going to be around for as long as they want to be anyway.

Best, Maeve.

#rpt #rpc #findrps

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space-mango-company · 1 year ago

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Stranger | Chapter 2

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

TW: Descriptions of Violence, Mentions of Cannibalism

Tags: Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen x Atreides!Reader, Arranged Marriage, Eventual Smut (still not in this chapter lmao), No use of y/n, Original Characters, Canon what canon

Word Count: 2k

A/N: So... this was posted prematurely a couple hours ago. This is the actual finished longer version. If you don't know what I'm talking about, thank god. Sorry this took so long, lmao

Just letting you guys know that my knowledge of the lore is purely based off of the movies and the Dune wiki rabbit hole I fell into right after watching part two. I also took a few liberties with the canon here.

I'm super open to constructive criticism, or any criticism at all (feel free to absolutely roast me). Like I mentioned, I've never written fanfic before so I'd love to hear your thoughts!

The evening of your first day in Giedi Prime was celebrated with a banquet where you were introduced to the most important people on the planet. You've heard many stories of the ruthlessness and brutality of the Harkonnens, hence surprised by the courtly welcome during the dinner. Although you did your best to politely ignore the Baron who floated at the head of the table being fed by servants.

You were sat beside his nephew who, despite your mother's education, has evaded your insight. You couldn't quite get a read on him.

Feyd-Rautha whispers to you amid the buzzing conversations of the banquet hall, "are you enjoying the food, little hawk?"

You shoot him a questioning look.

"I like your hairpin," he sneers.

You resist from reaching to touch the Atreides symbol affixed in your hair.

"We don't see such ornaments often here." He quietly laughs in his devilish way, only too amused with himself.

Ah, you realize. He means to torment you.

"Seems early for pet names," you say, picking at your plate, "we've only just met."

"Oh, and yet we are to be wed in less than a week's time," his raspy voice rings in your ear, "I should like to be familiar with my future wife, Lady Atreides."

The marriage pact had been signed when you were only a little girl. Inheriting your father's inclinations, you swore you would uphold your duty, undeterred by the gruesome and abhorrent stories about the Harkonnens—because you knew that centuries of conflict could end within a generation with this union. You were a willing bride.

And yet.

You give him a smile that, to those not privy to your conversation, would seem genuine, "You know nothing of me, na-Baron."

"I should like to learn," you doubt his sincerity but care not enough to discern it. He takes a smug bite of a forkful of meat, "perhaps tomorrow, you shall learn something of me."

The following morning Iassa helps you into another black gown, this time with a veil in anticipation of the black sun.

"Is it not dangerous for Feyd-Rautha to wager his life for a show?" you question.

"The na-Baron is a skilled fighter, my lady. He will emerge victorious," Iassa is straight-faced as she drapes the veil over you.

"Yes, I do not doubt it, but given he is the Baron's heir. Does it not seem a touch irresponsible to even risk it at all."

Not that you actually cared for his life, you just expected that the Harkonnens would be concerned with the preservation of their house regardless of their brutality. You recall your grandfather who got himself killed fighting bulls for sport.

"The na-Baron will be fighting war prisoners. They will be drugged beforehand. It is perfectly safe, my lady."

"Oh." You couldn't decide if you were disappointed or not, "I see."

Iassa seemed intent on dropping the subject, so you do.

You stand before a mirror and take a look at yourself. It is impossible not to be reminded of your mother. She was never one for vanity, but you like to think there was a part of her that always enjoyed the elegant dresses she and you 'had' to wear. You allow yourself a somber smile behind your veil.

"You look beautiful, my lady," Iassa curtsies.

"Thank you," you look at her bowed figure, gray robes made more dull by the stark black choker on her neck. You were sure she was at least 2 standard years younger than you are and it had only been a few months since you came of age. You wondered if she liked pretty dresses too.

Before you can ask her, there is a knock at your door.

The house steward, Jaromir, clears his throat when Iassa opens it for you, "The na-Baron requests your presence before he enters the arena."

Heavy doors open for you in one of the chambers beneath the arena. You are greeted by the sight of a half-dressed Feyd-Rautha being helped into his armor by a servant.

"Lady Atreides," he looks you up and down, "I hope you slept well."

You bow your head in acknowledgment.

"Your knives, master," a large man whom you assume to be the bladesmith presents Feyd-Rautha with two daggers.

The young Harkonnen takes one and caresses the blade with his fingers.

"I've come to wish the brave na-Baron well before his fight in the arena," you say in false earnestness.

He smiles at your inflation of his ego.

"Though I must say, I am relieved it is all for show. I would not like to see my groom wounded before we are wed."

"For show?" Feyd-Rautha tilts his head and you see his arrogant facade show the slightest crack.

"Yes, I've heard your opponents will be drugged will they not?" your voice dripping with innocence, "to ensure your safety, of course."

His grip on the dagger tightens, "and where did you hear this exactly?"

You sense the awkwardness and tension in the servants. The one who had helped don Feyd-Rautha's armor has quietly retreated to the far side of the chamber. There is a subtle tremble in the hands of one holding a plate of towels. You finally notice the three women piled upon a raised platform glaring at you.

"Just voices around the fortress," you shrug.

A deep breath recovers Feyd-Rautha's smug expression. "Call for the warden," he orders one of the guards by the door, "tell him to prepare new prisoners. Sober ones."

"My lord, you need not endanger yourself," you feign worry.

"Nonsense." The na-Baron walks closer to tower over you, "My lady bride deserves to see my true prowess."

He sees through your challenge, but you don't care. Seeing his self-satisfied smirk wiped from his face for even just a second was worth it.

"Besides," he turns away from you to inspect the second knife, "my darlings enjoy meat that's fought for its life."

The three women sneer at this and you see their sharp teeth as they hiss amongst themselves.

You've heard of Feyd-Rautha's concubines long before you arrived on Giedi Prime. Tales of their taste for human flesh were one of the things that tested your resolve in fulfilling the marriage pact. You didn't mind that the na-Baron would keep other women. It would result in less of his attentions on yourself, you figured. It was their perverse appetite that nauseated you.

A look of revulsion hides behind your veil which you sense they would be all too happy to rip to shreds.

"I will see you in the stands, little hawk," Feyd-Rautha whispers to you as he waves for a guard to escort you out.

You do your best to drown out the noise of what seemed to be a countless audience that came to see the na-Baron fight. You could understand now why they uphold such brutal traditions. The people are so excited for it.

On the other side of the arena, you sense Vladimir Harkonnen watching you from the Baron's Box that towered over the whole arena. The blazing sun only helps you avoid looking in his direction. You were sat at a viewing box, still for nobility and separated from the masses, but much lower and closer to the sands of the arena. Jaromir had told you that you were to 'give the na-Baron your favor'.

Before long, the master of ceremonies announces Feyd-Rautha's entrance in Giedi Prime Speech. They are celebrating his betrothal to you and the union of Harkonnen and Atreides, you translate in your head. You wonder if the people care for the politics of the Great Houses. They seemed no less excited to cheer at your name despite the centuries-old blood feud.

Massive doors open as the na-Baron walks into the arena. His arms outstretched holding his knives like an extension of his limbs. He riles up the crowd as he walks towards the Baron's Box and kneels to his uncle. He then rises and walks toward you, smirking under the stark light of the black sun.

You may not fear earning the Harkonnens' contempt, but you were the Duke of Caladan's daughter and you knew that the favor of the people was invaluable.

You stand and walk to the edge of the viewing box. The glowing smile you reveal as you lift your veil draws cheers from the crowd that rival what Feyd-Rautha received. You produce a pure white handkerchief from your dress pocket and make a show of kissing it and waving the cloth at the buzzing crowd. You throw it off the edge and it floats toward the na-Baron who had moved both daggers to one hand to catch it. He looks up at you with what you think could be the seeds of respect and tucks the cloth into the tight armband around his right bicep.

He turns back to the audience and raises his knives in a war cry. The crowd explodes in guttural cheers and applause. Feyd-Rautha takes his position in the middle of the arena as his first opponent is released into the white sands.

You've heard of the Harkonnen heir's aptitude in single combat. It's time to see if the stories were true or if it was just another part of their menacing facade.

You were handed a pair of spyglasses to observe with. The two fighters approach each other, the prisoner wielding a knife of his own. Feyd-Rautha holds a taunting stance. The prisoner was sober, you were sure, but even without the spyglasses, you could see he was weak. You surmised the Harkonnen cells weren't very hospitable. He attempts a swipe but the na-Baron parries with ease. Another and the na-Baron dodges. Zooming in, you could see Feyd-Rautha's twisted amusement. He was toying with the poor man—and the people loved it.

The crowds cheered at the clashing of metal, thundering when the na-Baron drew first blood by slashig his opponent's arm. It wasn't long before Feyd-Rautha's dagger had impaled the prisoner's heart. There was no pause before a second prisoner was brought out to meet a similar fate.

Feyd-Rautha stood unwounded, seething with exhilaration. He enjoyed this; the thrill of killing. He basked in the roar of the crowd. You had never ended a life before, but some deep part of you could almost understand how he felt in that moment.

A third prisoner enters the arena. He looked older than the first two, bearded and taller. He reminded you of Gurney Halleck, the Atreides Warmaster. This man certainly wasn't at his prime but you could tell he would not go down as easily as the first two.

The warrior holds his blade out in a firm fighting stance, refusing to make the first move. You notice picadors in black suits have entered the arena, circling the na-Baron and his opponent. Feyd-Rautha lunges at the prisoner and a quick series of parries from both sides occur. You see the finesse in the na-Baron's movement. He recognizes his opponent's skill and he is taking this one seriously. You were not sure what you expected of the Harkonnen's fighting style but Feyd-Rautha was vicious but precise. The crowd gasps when the prisoner disarms one of the na-Baron's knives. The warrior manages to get a grip on Feyd-Rautha's armed hand and aims to pierce the na-Baron's neck with his blade. The na-Baron struggled against his hold and the arid air was thick with anticipation.

You were unsure what outcome you desired as you stared through your spyglass. Perhaps this warrior kills your betrothed. What then? Would you really be able to go back to Caladan's windy cliffs again? Return to the arms of your mother as if it were all a bad dream? You wonder if when Feyd-Rautha becomes baron, and you his baroness, could you convince him to let you see your family.

The warrior's blade was dangerously close to your future husband's throat when one of the picadors lashes at the warrior. The na-Baron growls at the offending picador as the warrior is weakened. Feyd-Rautha pushes him off and allows him a moment to recover, taunting him to try again. Blades clash once more and after a sequence of quick ferocious movements, Feyd-Rautha's blade slashes the warrior's throat. Blood made black by the infrared of the sun splatters onto the na-Baron. He licks the darkness that landed on his lips. Heaving, he takes your bloodied handkerchief off his armband and raises it to you and the roaring crowd.

You did not even realize you were already standing, breathless at the sight.

Chapter Links: [1], [2], [3], [4], [5]

Taglist: @torchbearerkyle @austinswhitewolf @dreamlandcreations @emeraldsgirl @strawberryfieldsforevermore

#feyd rautha x you #feyd rautha x reader #feyd rautha #feyd rautha harkonnen #dune #dune part two #baron harkonnen #baron vladimir harkonnen #house harkonnen #house atreides #giedi prime #austin butler #space-mango-company #fic: stranger

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03jyh23 · 1 month ago

Text

🌷⌇the night finding our way back part 11; a choi jongho mini-series

ex-boyfriend! idol! jongho x ex-girlfriend! single-mom! reader

│ series masterlist│ next │

│synopsis: five years have passed since jongho last saw you. your lives have taken drastically different paths, with jongho achieving fame and you focusing on raising your daughter, nari, in quiet anonymity. when jongho discovers he has a daughter, he's determined to be a part of her life.

│genre: a slice of life, romance, fluff, some angst

│trigger warnings: mild alcohol consumption, romantic/intimate situations (non-explicit), mild suggestive content, adult language

│words: 5.7 k

│reminder: what you’re about to read is purely fiction, so let’s keep it separate from reality.

!minors do not interact!

— hi, my lovely people! this chapter takes a different turn from the previous ones, offering a more playful and lighthearted moment in our story. after all the emotional intensity we've experienced, i wanted to give you something sweet and fun right before we reach the end. hope you enjoyed this slightly different side of our characters! thank you for reading and staying with me through this journey! your support means everything. see you in the next chapter! oh, it's not proofread so im sorry for any errors :(

as always,

love, mon ♡

│taglist: │ @seventeenthingsblr │@DALSUWAHA │

│ @ateez-atiny380 │ @yoonshiiu │ @sndeoki │ @bomi-ja │

│ @vixensss │ @all-fandoms-rise │ @finnydraws │

│ @jonghosbrainrot │ @ateezswonderland │ @stayatinykatsy

│@chickenscoups │ @ana-stasssiaaa │ @starryunho │

│ @originalcupcakenacho │ @ultrapinkvoidbouquet │

│ @sweetinsaniiity│ @jennifermakmur│ @mitchii │

│ @hannah-97 │ @hyuckiesgf │ @treehouse-mouse │

│ @eternoange1│ @ultrapinkvoidbouquet │ @jycas │

│ @velvetskize │ @dumplingsyum │

│ @daisiesandtea123 │ @taegi1016│ @misshella│

│ @e3ellie │ @staytiny94 │ @everglow98 │

│@thedistractedwriter │ @satans-arse-crack │ @soreberry │

│ @domfikeluva │

│ if you wish to be tagged let me know here! ♡

The night had grown quite late by the time Hongjoong insisted on giving you a ride home, following what had unexpectedly evolved into quite the festive gathering. The streetlights cast long shadows through the car windows as Hongjoong navigated the quiet streets. You watched the familiar buildings pass by, each one bringing you closer to home. You found yourself reflecting on how long it had been since you'd allowed yourself to truly unwind like this - the easy laughter, the flowing conversation, the comfortable atmosphere that made time slip away unnoticed. But tonight felt different, special even, like a weight had finally lifted from your shoulders. You could feel yourself relaxing, truly relaxing, knowing that Jongho and Nari were building their relationship, that your daughter finally knew the truth about Jongho's identity. The guys had surprised you completely - instead of the awkward, formal interaction you'd been dreading, they had welcomed you with open arms and genuine warmth. Their natural friendliness and humor had made you feel less like an outsider being cautiously accepted and more like you'd somehow stumbled into a gathering of old friends you'd simply forgotten you had.

"So..." Hongjoong's voice broke through the comfortable silence, a playful lilt in his tone. "How are you really doing with all of this? You know, the whole Jongho situation?"

You couldn't help but giggle, the pleasant buzz from the evening's drinks making everything seem lighter, funnier somehow. "Oh my god, you sound just like one of those TV show therapists!" You mimicked a serious expression, pushing imaginary glasses up your nose. "'And how does that make you feeeeeel?'"

Hongjoong burst out laughing, shaking his head. "I'm trying to have a serious conversation here!"

"Serious is overrated," you sang, watching the streetlights blur past. "But if you must know..." You paused dramatically, making Hongjoong glance at you expectantly. "I have absolutely no fucking idea what I'm doing!"

"That's... surprisingly honest," Hongjoong chuckled.

"I know, right?" You grinned, feeling giddy. "But here's the thing - and don't you dare tell anyone I said this - I think I might still be a teensy bit in love with him." You emphasized 'teensy' by pinching your fingers together, then immediately burst into giggles.

Hongjoong raised an eyebrow, trying to maintain his composure but failing miserably as your laughter proved contagious. "A 'teensy' bit?"

"Okay, okay," you waved your hands dramatically. "Maybe a lot bit. But shhh, it's a secret!" You pressed a finger to your lips and made an exaggerated 'shushing' sound that sent both of you into another fit of laughter.

"You're something else when you're drunk, you know that?" Hongjoong managed between chuckles, turning onto your street.

"I'm delightful always," you declared with mock indignation. "It's just that right now everything feels... possible? Like maybe happy endings aren't just in fairy tales?" You suddenly gasped. "Oh no, I'm getting sappy! Quick, tell a joke!"

Hongjoong couldn't contain his amusement anymore. "You're absolutely ridiculous," he said fondly, "But for what it's worth, I think those happy endings might not be as far-fetched as you think."

"Now who's being sappy?" you teased, making him roll his eyes even as he continued grinning.

"God, you know what?" you sighed dreamily, slumping against the car window, your cheeks flushed from the evening's drinks. "Jongho got so impossibly, unreasonably hot. Like, have you seen his arms lately? Those perfectly sculpted muscles that peek through his fitted shirts should be considered dangerous weapons! The way they flex when he's just casually reaching for something... It's completely unfair to the rest of humanity!"

"Okay, maybe we should change the subject-" Hongjoong tried to interrupt, but you were too caught up in your revelation to notice.

"And don't even get me started on his thighs! Do you have any idea how long it's been since I've been with anyone? Years! YEARS, Hongjoong!" you declared dramatically, throwing your hands up in frustration. "And here he comes, walking back into my life looking like some kind of Greek god, giving me those intense looks with those gorgeous eyes of his... It should be illegal! There should be laws against looking that good after all this time!"

"I really don't need to hear this about my bandmate-" Hongjoong protested weakly, fighting back laughter at your animated state.

"But seriously, have you seem his thighs in those jeans a few days ago? The way they just... UGH! And I just want him to grab me and-"

"NOPE!" Hongjoong practically shouted, reaching over to clamp a hand over your mouth while trying to keep the car steady.

"No, but listen!" you persisted, pulling his hand away from your mouth. "Have you seen the way he carries Nari? Those strong arms just lifting her up like she weighs nothing, being all fatherly and protective... And then he'll catch my eye and give me that soft smile that makes my knees weak and I just-"

"You are definitely going to regret this conversation tomorrow," Hongjoong chuckled, shaking his head in amusement.

"I can't even finish that thought because it just makes me feel all..." you trailed off with a dreamy sigh, fanning yourself dramatically. "Is it getting hot in here? I think it's getting hot in here."

"Alright, time to get you inside before you say anything else I'll need therapy to unhear," he laughed, putting the car in park.

"Oh? We're already home?" you asked, surprised as you peered out the window at your familiar building.

"That's what happens when you spend the whole ride waxing poetic about Jongho's... physical attributes," Hongjoong teased, unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Listen, I'm just saying," you drawled, gesturing expressively with your finger weaving unsteady patterns in the air, "As a single mom who hasn't had time for dating in forever, you have no idea what it's like. I bet you're out there living your best life, going to fancy industry parties, probably have people throwing themselves at you begging you to fuck th—" you continued, your words becoming increasingly slurred as you attempted to make your point with increasingly dramatic hand movements.

"Y/N!" Hongjoong interrupted, his expression a mix of mortification and barely contained amusement. "Oh my god, I can't believe you're saying all this. Exactly how many glasses of wine did you have at dinner?" His voice carried equal parts concern and entertainment at your uninhibited state.

You responded with a series of uncontrollable giggles, your coordination clearly compromised as your fingers fumbled clumsily with the seatbelt buckle, missing the release button entirely several times while muttering something incomprehensible under your breath. "Alright, I'm going," you declared with exaggerated dignity, attempting to push open the car door but somehow managing to pull on the window control instead. "Oh. That's not... wait, why isn't this... ah, there it is!" You finally located the correct handle, swinging the door open with perhaps a bit too much enthusiasm.

Hongjoong quickly jumped out of the driver's seat, rushing around to your side of the car as you swayed precariously on your feet. "Whoa, careful there!" he exclaimed, catching your elbow just as you started to tip sideways. "Let's get you inside in one piece, shall we?"

"My hero!" you proclaimed with an exaggerated flutter of your eyelashes, swaying dramatically as Hongjoong supported your wobbly progress toward the building entrance.

"Just doing my duty as a responsible friend," he chuckled warmly, carefully guiding you up the steps while ensuring you didn't take an unexpected detour. "And making sure Jongho doesn't kill me if anything happens to you. He'd never let me hear the end of it."

"Aww, he's so protective," you sighed dreamily, your fingers fumbling with your keys in an elaborate choreography of misses. "Have I mentioned how incredibly, absolutely, positively hot that protective side of his is?"

"Only about a dozen times in the last hour," Hongjoong muttered with fond exasperation, gently extracting the keys from your uncoordinated grasp. "Here, let me help with that before you accidentally try to unlock your door with your credit card."

"I am perfectly capable of using my own keys!" you protested with the utmost conviction, nearly pirouetting over your own feet as you made this passionate declaration. "See? I'll show you! I am a key-using expert of the highest caliber!"

You triumphantly thrust your hand into the air, brandishing what you believed to be your key ring with the confidence of a symphony conductor, only to realize you were wielding your phone like a magical wand. "Oh. When did that happen? The keys have clearly learned to shape-shift. Very sneaky of them."

Hongjoong's laughter bubbled over, rich and genuine. "Just let me help, okay? Before you convince yourself your lip gloss is actually the garage door opener."

"Fine," you conceded with an exaggerated pout worthy of a theatrical performance. "But only because you're being so nice about it. And don't you dare tell Jongho about any of this! This is top-secret, classified, confidential... what's another word for secret?"

Hongjoong glanced at you with a mixture of amusement and growing concern. "You do know Jongho's at your place with Nari right now, don't you?"

"Oh shit," you breathed, your eyes widening to comical proportions. "Oh no, no, no... This is not part of the plan. The plan was to be sophisticated and elegant and..." Hongjoong couldn't help but laugh at your increasingly panicked expression, watching as the realization slowly dawned across your features. "Oh my god, I'm so drunk," you groaned, pressing your hands against your flaming cheeks as if trying to physically hold your dignity in place. "But I'll be fine! Totally fine. Completely and utterly fine!"

"I'm telling you," you continued with newfound determination, stumbling slightly as Hongjoong guided you through the building's entrance, "I'm going to walk in there and be all... all dignified and stuff. Like a queen. Or maybe a duchess. Do duchesses wobble?"

Hongjoong let out an undignified snort. "Sure you are. And I'm secretly a unicorn."

"No, really! Watch this!" You straightened up with the determination of an Olympic athlete, attempting to walk in what you believed to be a perfectly straight line down the hallway but instead executing a gentle curve to the left that would make geometry teachers weep. "I am grace personified! Poetry in motion! The very essence of... of... what's that word for when you're really good at walking?"

"Finally," Hongjoong sighed in relief as the elevator doors opened. He guided you inside, pressing the button for your floor while you leaned against the wall for support.

"I need to be... what's the word? Sophisticated! Yes, that's it. I am a sophisticated, responsible mother who absolutely, positively, definitely does not spend any time whatsoever thinking about her daughter's father's muscles. Or his shoulders. Or the way his t-shirts fit just right when he's... No! Bad brain! Stop that!"

"Maybe save the thigh appreciation for when you're more... coherent?" Hongjoong suggested, leading you down the hallway to your apartment.

"You're right, you're right," you nodded with such vigor that the world decided to do a spin, forcing you to grab the wall for support. "Do you think Jongho will be able to tell I'm drunk? I can be sneaky. Like a ninja. A very sophisticated ninja."

Hongjoong paused at your door, giving you a look that could only be described as 'are you actually serious right now?' "Y/N, a blind person could tell you're drunk right now. From three blocks away. In a soundproof room."

"I'm not drunk!" you protested with the righteous indignation of someone who was very much drunk, punctuating your declaration with a perfectly timed hiccup. "I'm just... experiencing an enhanced state of... of... consciousness expansion? No, that's not it. Alternative sobriety? Enhanced gravitational awareness?" You waved your hand in elaborate patterns through the air, as if trying to pluck the proper words from the cosmos itself.

Just then, the door to your apartment swung open to reveal Jongho standing there with an amused smirk playing across his features. "Enhanced state, huh?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as you felt your cheeks flush an even deeper shade of crimson. Hongjoong cleared his throat, making a valiant but ultimately failed attempt to suppress his laughter at your mortified expression.

"I am completely and totally fine," you declared with all the dignity you could muster while the floor seemed to be engaging in some sort of gentle wave motion beneath your feet. "Just experiencing some temporary... spatial recalibration. It's very scientific." Your attempt at a graceful entrance was somewhat undermined when you promptly stumbled directly into Jongho's chest, his strong hands instinctively reaching out to catch you with practiced ease. "Hi!" you chirped brightly, gazing up at him with what you hoped was a casual smile but probably looked more like a lovestruck grin. The solid warmth of his chest against your palms and the steady pressure of his hands on your waist were doing absolutely nothing to help clear your wine-addled thoughts.

"Someone had a good time at dinner," he observed, his voice carrying notes of amusement mixed with something deeper, something that made your stomach do little flips that had nothing to do with the wine.

"The BEST time," you emphasized with enthusiastic hand gestures, still making no effort whatsoever to extract yourself from his supportive grip. "They had so many wines. SO many. And they were all very... winey. Like, really good at being wine. Is that a thing? It should be a thing."

"And this," Hongjoong announced with barely contained glee, backing away toward freedom, "is where I make my strategic retreat. Have fun dealing with... all of this." He gestured vaguely in your direction with a flourish before giving Jongho a sympathetic pat on the shoulder that clearly said, 'Good luck, you're going to need it.'

"Traitor!" you called after him, your voice echoing dramatically down the hallway along with his answering laughter. "Some friend you are, abandoning me in my hour of... of... what's that thing when you really need something?"

"Need?" Jongho supplied helpfully, still maintaining his steady hold on you as he somehow managed to kick the door closed without letting you topple over.

"You, Mister Choi," you declared with the gravity of someone making a profound scientific discovery, punctuating each word with a gentle poke to his chest, "are very smart. And strong. Have I mentioned how strong you are?" Your eyes widened comically as you realized what you'd just said, dissolving into a fresh fit of giggles that you tried to muffle against his shoulder.

Jongho's chuckle rumbled deep in his chest, the sound warming you more effectively than any amount of wine as he carefully guided you toward the couch. "Maybe we should get you some water and have you sit down for a bit," he suggested, his hands maintaining their gentle but firm pressure on your shoulders. The combination of his proximity and your alcohol-diminished inhibitions was making it increasingly difficult to remember all the reasons why you shouldn't be telling him exactly how devastatingly attractive you found him.

"You know what?" you announced with the air of someone about to share a vital piece of information, tilting your head back to look up at him. "You have really nice shoulders. Like, really, really nice. The kind of shoulders that make a girl want to..." you trailed off, your hands making vague grabbing motions in the air that would have made a mime proud.

"And how much exactly did you have to drink tonight?" Jongho asked, his valiant attempt at maintaining a straight face crumbling around the edges as he steadied you for what felt like the hundredth time.

"Enough to finally tell you that your whole..." you made a grand sweeping gesture encompassing his entire form, nearly taking out a lamp in the process, "...everything is very distracting. Has anyone ever told you that you're unfairly attractive? Because you are. It's very inconsiderate of you, honestly. There should be laws about this sort of thing."

Jongho's ears turned an adorable shade of pink, but his smile only grew wider, softer somehow. "Maybe we should revisit this conversation when you're sober," he suggested gently, guiding you to sit on the couch with the careful attention of someone handling a particularly wobbly piece of fine china.

"Nooo," you whined, latching onto his arm like a particularly determined octopus. "You're just going to be all responsible and professional again tomorrow, and I'll have to go back to pretending I don't notice how ridiculously good you look in those stupid fitted shirts of yours. Do you know how hard that is? It's very hard. Very, very hard."

"And don't even get me started on your arms," you continued, poking his bicep with an accusing finger as if it had personally offended you. "Do you know what they do to a person? Because I do. I know exactly what they do, and it's very... it's very... arm-y."

Jongho caught your poking finger in his hand, his expression a fascinating mix of amusement and something warmer, something that made your heart skip several beats. "Maybe you should tell me," he teased, his voice carrying a hint of challenge that sent shivers down your spine.

"Oh, I could tell you so many things." You leaned closer, emboldened by the wine and the way his eyes seemed to darken at your proximity. "Like how distracting it is when you roll up your sleeves, or when-"

"Mommy?" a small voice called softly from the bedroom, the innocent sound cutting through your wine-induced haze like a bucket of ice water. The simple word instantly cleared your foggy mind, replacing the warmth of attraction with sharp, sobering clarity as you sat on the couch beside Jongho.

"Oh god," you whispered, practically leaping to the other end of the couch as though burned, your heart hammering in your chest as reality came crashing back. "Nari's still awake?"

Jongho reacted with lightning-quick composure, smoothly adjusting his position to create a respectable distance between you as the sound of tiny footsteps approached the room. "She was asleep just a few minutes ago, must have woken up from all our talking," he explained in carefully measured tones, his voice barely above a whisper, just as Nari appeared in her flower-patterned pajamas, her small fists rubbing drowsily at her eyes.

"Baby, what are you doing up?" you managed to say with impressive steadiness, fighting against the lingering effects of the wine that made the room tilt and sway. Your thoughts raced as you desperately hoped your daughter wouldn't notice how flushed your cheeks were or how disheveled you must look.

Nari shuffled toward the couch with that endearing sleepy wobble that small children have, her eyes heavy with interrupted dreams. "I heard laughing..." she mumbled, her voice thick with sleep.

"Princess, Mommy and I were just having a little chat, but it's very late now." Jongho stepped in with practiced ease, his voice gentle as he rose from the couch and lowered himself to her eye level. "Can I help you back to bed?" The natural way he handled the situation, seamlessly transitioning from your heated moment to caring father figure, made your heart clench with an emotion you weren't ready to name.

Nari's eyes darted between you and Jongho, concern evident even through her sleepy haze. "Is Mommy okay? She looks funny."

"Mommy's just a little tired from dinner with the uncles," Jongho explained, his voice warm and reassuring as he extended his hand toward her. "Let's get you tucked in, and tomorrow morning, she'll feel much better." The tenderness in his tone made your chest ache with longing and gratitude.

You caught Jongho's eye as he led Nari away, mouthing a silent but heartfelt 'thank you,' overwhelmed with appreciation for his quick thinking and smooth intervention. As their footsteps grew fainter down the hallway, you sagged deeper into the couch cushions, letting out a long groan while pressing your palms against your eyes, trying to will away both the spinning sensation and the memory of how close you'd been to kissing him.

A few minutes later, Jongho returned to the room, his expression a perfect blend of amusement and fond exasperation as he leaned against the doorframe. "Well, the first baby is safely back in dreamland," he announced with a knowing smirk, crossing his arms across his chest in a way that definitely didn't make your heart skip. "Now it's time to take care of the big baby."

"Are you calling me a baby?" you protested with an exaggerated pout, stumbling slightly as you tried to cross your arms. "Because I'll have you know I am a very mature and sophisticated..." you trailed off as an ill-timed hiccup interrupted your declaration, "...person."

"Whatever you say," Jongho chuckled warmly, his eyes sparkling with barely contained mirth as he gently took your elbow. "Come on, let's get you some water. Can you walk to the kitchen?"

"Of course I can walk," you declared confidently, though your steps were anything but steady as he guided you.

Once in the kitchen, he carefully positioned you against the counter, his hands lingering on your waist to ensure you stayed upright. "Stay right here," he instructed, his voice a mix of amusement and concern. "And try not to fall over while I get your water."

"No, I don't want water," you whined, gripping the counter edge as the room did a gentle spin. Your eyes followed him as he moved to the sink, unable to help yourself from admiring his profile. "I want to tell you about how pretty your eyes are when you smile." Jongho turned back to you with that exact devastating smile you'd just mentioned, making your heart flutter.

"Here," he said firmly, pressing the glass of water into your hands, his fingers brushing against yours in a way that sent tingles up your arm. "Drink this, and maybe we can talk more about my eyes later."

"Or you could just kiss me," you murmured, the wine making your voice husky and your usual hesitation nonexistent. Your eyes traced the contours of his lips, lingering on the subtle curve of his mouth as he held you steady against the kitchen counter, his proximity making your head spin more than any amount of alcohol could. Jongho's breath caught audibly in his throat, his fingers flexing unconsciously where they gripped your waist, the pressure just firm enough to send shivers down your spine. For a long moment, the air between you crackled with an almost electric tension. Then, with a deliberateness that made your heart race, he slowly began to lean in. When his lips finally met yours, it was with a gentleness that made your knees weak. The kiss was tentative at first, exploratory, like he was giving you every chance to pull away. Instead, you let out a soft sigh against his mouth, your fingers finding purchase in the fabric of his shirt, desperately pulling him closer. Something in him seemed to break at that small sound - the kiss transformed, becoming deeper, more intense, charged with years of suppressed longing. His hands slid up the curve of your back, fingers threading through your hair as he pressed you more firmly against the counter, the solid warmth of his body making you dizzy with want.

But then, as quickly as the moment had ignited, Jongho wrenched himself away, his chest heaving with ragged breaths. "Wait," he rasped, his voice rough with barely contained emotion. "We can't... we shouldn't do this. Not like this."

"Why not?" you whimpered, your hands still clutching at his shirt, trying to draw him back to you, missing his warmth already.

"Because you're drunk," he said, his tone firm despite the obvious desire still burning in his eyes, making them dark and intense. "And I... god, I want this - want you - too much to let it happen this way. You deserve better than some rushed, drunken makeout session in your kitchen that you might not even remember clearly tomorrow."

"Jongho..." you purred, your fingers tracing patterns on his chest. The wine had completely demolished your filter, leaving your desires bare and unrestrained. "I've thought about this... about us... so many times..."

Jongho's jaw clenched visibly, his hands gripping your waist a fraction tighter. "Y/N," he warned, his voice strained. "You're making this very difficult."

"You're kind of adorable when you're being responsible," you giggled, swaying forward to rest your forehead against his chest. "But fine, have it your way. I'll be good." The words came out more suggestive than you'd intended, and you felt Jongho's sharp intake of breath.

He shifted slightly, maintaining a respectful distance while still keeping you steady. "Let's get you to bed," he said softly, his voice gentle but leaving no room for argument.

Letting out a small sigh of defeat, you let him guide you toward your bed, your steps still slightly unsteady. "You're no fun," you mumbled, even as your eyelids grew heavier with each step. "But you're still pretty..."

Jongho smiled fondly as he guided you toward the bathroom instead, his warm hand steady against the small of your back. The way he looked at you made your heart flutter - even through your wine-induced haze, you could see the tender concern in his eyes, mixed with something deeper that made your breath catch.

"Let's get you cleaned up first," he said softly, his voice warm and gentle as he steadied you with one hand while reaching for your toothbrush with the other.

"You're being very... what's the word?" you mumbled as he carefully put toothpaste on your brush, your body swaying slightly into his solid presence. The bathroom lights seemed to spin a little, but his firm grip kept you grounded. "Nurturing? Is that it? Like a big, strong, handsome nurse," you giggled, leaning back against his chest for support.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through you where your back pressed against him. "Someone has to take care of you," he murmured, his breath tickling your ear as he passed you the toothbrush. His hands lingered on your shoulders, thumbs drawing small, comforting circles that made you feel safe. As you brushed your teeth, still swaying slightly, you caught his eye in the mirror. The way he watched you, with that mix of amusement and affection, made your chest tight with emotion. His reflection showed everything you'd been too afraid to see before - the way his eyes softened when they met yours, how his protective stance betrayed more than just friendly concern.

"Are you gonna stay?" you asked around a mouthful of toothpaste, trying to sound casual but failing miserably, your voice small and hopeful. Jongho reached up to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His fingertips lingered against your cheek for just a moment, sending sparks of electricity down your spine.

"I never planned to leave in the first place," he assured you, "Someone needs to make sure you drink water and take painkillers in the morning. Besides," he added, his eyes never leaving yours in the mirror, "there's nowhere else I'd rather be right now."

You shuffled into your bedroom, leaning slightly against Jongho's steady presence as he carefully guided you to sit on the edge of your bed. His movements were deliberate and gentle, ensuring you remained balanced despite your slightly unsteady state. With remarkable foresight and consideration, he made his way to your dresser, retrieving your pajamas and holding them out to you with one hand while the other dramatically covered his eyes, his fingers splayed in an exaggerated gesture that made you smile.

"No peeking," you giggled, swaying slightly even while seated, your hand reaching out to steady yourself against the mattress. "Such a gentleman..."

"I'll turn around," he said firmly, though you could hear the barely contained smile in his voice, "Just let me know when you're done changing, okay?"

"But what if I need help?" you teased, watching with delight as the tips of his ears turned a delicate shade of pink, the blush creeping down his neck. "These buttons can be so tricky..."

"Y/N..." His voice carried a warning tone, though it was impossible to miss the undercurrent of affection and obvious amusement in his words. "You're making this whole 'being responsible' thing incredibly challenging, you know that?"

"Fine, fine," you conceded with an exaggerated sigh, waving your hand dismissively. "Turn around then, Mr. Proper," you mock-pouted, watching as he obediently spun to face the wall. As you managed to change into your pajamas with surprisingly minimal stumbling, you couldn't help but notice how Jongho kept his word, standing perfectly still with his back turned, his shoulders tense with the effort of maintaining composure. You had to admit, his steadfast determination to be proper and gentlemanly was endearing, even if your wine-influenced mind desperately wanted to test those carefully constructed boundaries. With a mischievous grin spreading across your face, you waited until he was fully turned around, completely unsuspecting, before carefully unhooking your bra under your shirt. In one fluid motion that was far more coordinated than you expected given your current state, you managed to pull it free from your sleeve and, with surprisingly good aim, tossed it directly at him, watching with gleeful satisfaction as it landed perfectly draped across his broad shoulder.

"Oops," you giggled with exaggerated innocence, trying and failing to suppress your laughter. "How did that get there? Must have slipped..."

Jongho froze completely, his shoulders tensing visibly beneath his hoodie. You could practically see him counting slowly to ten in his head, his fingers flexing at his sides before he carefully, deliberately reached up and removed the garment without turning his head even slightly, holding it out behind him with two fingers. "Y/N..." his voice was delightfully strained but unmistakably amused, a combination that made you want to test his resolve even further. "You're absolutely impossible, you know that?"

"I prefer the term 'delightfully challenging,'" you quipped back, finally pulling your pajama top on and smoothing it down. "Okay, I'm decent now. More or less. Probably more less than more, but who's counting?"

He turned back around slowly, cautiously, as if expecting another piece of clothing to come flying his way. A soft smile played at his lips despite his obvious attempt to maintain his composure, and when his eyes met yours, they were warm and tender, yet still carrying that hint of careful restraint that had characterized the entire evening.

"Let's get you tucked in," he said gently, moving to help you under the covers, his hands steady and sure.

"Can you... Stay with me?" you asked softly, your voice suddenly sleepy, all the previous playfulness melting into vulnerable honesty. "Just to cuddle? I promise I'll behave this time... mostly."

Jongho hesitated for a moment, his expression softening visibly as he looked down at you. "Alright," he conceded with a gentle smile that made your heart skip. "But you need to actually sleep, okay?"

You nodded eagerly, watching as he pulled off his hoodie with careful movements, leaving him in his soft, oversized t-shirt and comfortable sweatpants. The bed dipped slightly under his weight as he slipped under the covers beside you, and you immediately gravitated toward his warmth like a moth to flame. Your head found its perfect resting place on his chest, the steady, strong rhythm of his heartbeat more soothing than any lullaby could ever be. His arms wrapped around you protectively, one hand resting securely on your back while the other began to stroke your hair with such tender care that you felt yourself melting into his embrace.

"Comfortable?" he murmured softly, his voice rumbling pleasantly in his chest beneath your ear, the vibrations sending waves of contentment through your entire body.

"Mmhmm," you hummed contentedly, already feeling the gentle pull of sleep starting to cloud your consciousness. "You're so warm... and safe... like my own personal guardian angel..."

The last thing you registered before drifting off into peaceful slumber was the gentle, almost reverent press of his lips against your forehead and his whispered "Sweet dreams," the words carrying more tenderness than you'd ever heard before.

♡│if you enjoy my writing please consider supporting me by tagging and reblogging│

#jongho x reader #jonhgo x you #jongho x y/n #jongho series #jongho fanfiction #jongho fanfic #ateez #finding our way back series #jongho fluff #choi jongho #jongho #jongho ateez #ateez fanfiction #ateez x female reader #ateez x reader #ateez x y/n #ateez fanfic #ateez au #ateez x you

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izziessogay · 5 months ago

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y'all I'm so mad with you Jayvik shippers. I get it, it was gay, I thought they were super fruity in season 1 already as well, but please have a critical thought. their arc in act 3 coopted the ENTIRE story including their storyline (referencing the last post I reblogged here): arcane is about classist oppression, Viktor got to suffer it firsthand as a Zaunite on Topside. this never was about an evil god, or the arcane, Zaun has been in shit since forever as far as I'm concerned. Viktor only started ascending to evil godhood in act 2 of this season. to make him or his delusion out as the real evil that needs to be combatted in order to fix everything is batshit. the villain isn't Viktor or Ambessa or Silco or Mel or Singed or whoever IT'S PILTOVER AS A SYSTEM. and I thought we were all agreeing on this already, but so many of you saw the poor gay Zaunite who just wanted to help turn evil and gobbled it up. Piltover got away without any blame, since Viktor wasn't even one of their people. Besides, I cannot be the only one who thinks that this all is incredibly out of character for Viktor and needed more explanation.

and don't get me wrong, the jayvik scene looked amazing and if my two faves astrally conected through divine bleach and tones while being existential about their relationship I'd also jump, trust me, I've watched she ra. and I can't even say I'd like it to be different, but it is taking up too much importance. it could've been a catalyst to unite Zaun and Piltover through a common cause and get them to work some systematic issues out, it could have been anything but this. none of Piltovers crimes were addressed, Zaun is still in poverty and the only systematic change that happened was one (1) Zaunite being allowed in the council, which really means nothing, because the council decides by vote and there is like seven Topside council members.

I'm very much disappointed by a show who I thought was really in synch with today's systematic issues up until now (and I'm mad at all you jayvik people for clogging up the tag, when there is so much to discuss) and that doesn't even take into account that they made the mentally ill character that most unstable and suicidal people relate to A LOT kill herself??

#I feel like y'all just saw gay sparkly shit in space and ran with it #but their arc is BULLSHIT #I'm not even sorry about it considering the things I've seen y'all post here #arcane #arcane spoilers #arcane season 2 #arcane s2 #arcane s2 spoilers #still mad #jayvik

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n3ptoonz · 1 year ago

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Part 2 of MK1 men pushing the reader to a wall while kissing them, please? 😊

i mean i GUESS i can do that 🤭 since you asked so nicely! part one here

how liu kang, reiko, sub-zero, havik, johnny cage, scorpion, and geras go about pushing reader to the wall while kissing them

just know it may not show the long pauses i took while writing this but know IT HAPPENED!! THE THINGS I DO FOR YALL🫵🏾don't say i never did none😫

havik's regeneration mentioned. i've also been told havik looks like that on purpose so like, let's act like he can make his face go back to where it was for the sake of shits, giggles, and pandering XD

tags: @luna18night20 @momopad

warnings: suggestive, fluff elements, indigo tried her best, there will not be a part 3 im sorry y'all 💔 BUT shao and kenshi are here

Liu Kang

Liu Kang was rarely ever rough with you. In fact, the only way he'd do it is if you either verbally say it's fine, or if he knows you're poking the bear just to get a reaction. And when you get a reaction...there's no going back. You've kissed with your back to the wall several times, and every time was gentle and loving and laced with care. However, if you've presented that you were that desperate for him to give you the attention you deserve, he will gladly be a little rougher in pushing you back with his lips on yours. Just be prepared for him to leave some handprints on your waist.

Reiko

Reiko is a warrior. Hardened by battle and discipline, so the way he kisses you usually starts off that way. He can't help it. Not only is it the way he was raised and what he was told a man is "supposed to be", but it also came with how his partners were to be treated. When it came to you his sense of duty and protection spiked every single time. So here you were, well within his unintentional bear hug as your back was against the wall. His kisses always started off like he was going away to war/fight (because he usually was) but he would eventually melt and become smoother because you're by his side.

Sub-Zero

Bi-Han, a truly complex character. I believe that whoever captures his heart will be the main obsession in his life. In this case, it is you. He constantly needs to be on you, around you, see you, hear you, you name it. He can't get enough of your lips and this is especially apparent the way he's almost always pushing you to the wall while kissing you. Can we blame him? He's a tall hunk of touch-starved and the only thing that will satiate that hunger is roughly making out with you every chance he gets all while still knowing how to treat you like a porcelain antique.

Havik

Havik...this guy. Even though I'm pretty sure it's not canon I still feel like he'd regenerate and degenerate for fun and for different purposes/occasions. For the sake of my sanity I can say I found him fine as hell before his face got fucked up, and so did you. But you don't mind him either way because you love his crazy ass. Allow me to set the scene: You say something snappy to get his attention and boom...he regenerates his facial wounds just to back you against the wall and shut you up with pure smugness and arrogance behind his kiss. But, this is what you wanted, nonetheless. And you'd do it again!

Johnny Cage

Who's to say Johnny Cage wouldn't try to get you in one of his films just so he could keep getting takes of him backing you to a wall and kissing you? For Elder God's sakes, he's the one who wrote the script! And of course it's something dramatic like him being a villain that captures the hero and tries to convince them to ditch their position to be with him. Dude would totally think he's Loki (did i say that bc i think it would be hot if Loki did that to me? ..don't worry about it!) He's for sure fucking up his takes on purpose and you know this, but you only pretend to be irritated and maybe even fuck up a few yourself.

Scorpion

Kuai Liang, the romantic this man is. Like Liu Kang, he's never rough with you. Except it would take a little more convincing to let him know it's fine for him to act on his feelings when he wants to. With him, his kisses are slow and gentle. They will always start off like that even if he has a hard day. All he wants is to hold you, but it's like whenever your back hits the wall a gear starts turning in his brain. The idea of you having nowhere to go and enjoying it? Not even an Elder God is pulling him from your embrace. He gets handsy and a lot more affectionate around this time; he's kissing your face, neck, and shoulders too, because why the hell not?

Geras

Geras is a special case. He's an immortal who has never experienced romantic love before. So naturally you will have to teach him some things and even point out things he has observed that can be taken as romantic love. But he's still a man who has seen a lot, so this guy knows what kissing is and how to kiss. Surely you didn't think this giant fine ass immortal being didn't know how to treat his partner? Crazy talk! Understand that when you introduce the classic wall kiss by showing him what to do, he's leaning in to kiss you as he lifts you in his arms with no effort to be found and there won't be kissing going on much longer!

a/n: thanks for reading and i hope you enjoyed! collapses onto the ground

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suiana · 1 year ago

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yo i saw ur rb && feel free to write about the renting concept!!! if u do pls tag me i’d love to see <33 😋

😻😻 rhanks genie

(yandere! rental boyfriend x gn! reader) (shitpost kinda) (concept based on this post)

you know, it's not like you were ugly, dumb or poor. in fact, you consider yourself rather attractive, smart and quite rich. but it seems that no one has noticed that which... might've been why you were single for a very long period of time.

very meaning from when you were born up until recently.

you had always desired for a relationship. wanting to experience the joys of love, the romance, the contentment you get whenever you're with that special someone.

unfortunately you never got to experience that. never. even after putting down your dignity and renting a boyfriend.

you had rented a rather pretty looking guy from this... dodgy website called 'rent-a-darling'? was that the name? it probably is. what a weird website it's called. anyways, it was basically a rental boyfriend/girlfriend website and you had absolutely struck gold with it.

perfect face, perfect body, incredibly intelligent... he was basically a work of art. and his personality wasn't half that bad either! he cracked jokes and they were entertaining enough! he made you laugh, feel better about your miserable love life...

but he just wasn't it.

so you decided to end contact with him. there was no point in continuing that rental service anyways. it's not like he'd like you back even if you fell for him.

except that was exactly what happened?? a few days after you officially ended your contact with your absolute god of a rental boyfriend, he showed up at your doorstep, panting as a lovesick look paints his beautiful features.

you were concerned to say the least. after all, you had never seen him act in such a way before. which was why you allowed him in... which led you to your current situation which was far from ideal.

"could you let me go please? my arms are sore..."

"you know, you're really cute like this."

you merely sigh in response, looking away as you grow awkward under his obsessed gaze. this has been the fifth day since he tied you up, only allowing you to leave the bed for meals and the toilet.

and in those five days he's openly admitted to be in love with you.

while it was nice and endearing to hear such words, you only wish it was from someone you actually loved back. and maybe not as crazy as this guy was.

"can you please let me go? do you want money or something? i can give it to you-"

"what i want is your love, and that cannot be bought with money."

he interjects promptly, still smiling at you with his pearly white teeth which were honestly starting to creep you out. why were they so white? why was he so objectively perfect? and why was he madly obsessed with you?

"hey can i just ask something? why are you so obsessed? like just why."

he pauses for a second, hummung contently as he shuts his eyes for a bit.

"I'm not sure why,"

his eyes open again and he continues his sentence. this time, you can't help but feel an impending sense of dread in your gut when he speaks.

"i guess i just really adore you."

he then giggles oddly, tugging at your bedsheets as his face nears yours.

"you complete me, my love."

you grimace as his face nears yours. ugh, what you wanted was that lovey dovey shit you saw on television. not whatever this was. kidnapping and constant moans of how your captor loves you.

but oh well, it is a relationship. just not the one you wanted. maybe you could learn to deal with it-

"darling! if you tell me how much you love me, block everyone else you know, leave your job, and promise to run away with me, I'll untie you! how about it?"

...yeah, you're not dealing with this. perhaps you're just not meant for love.

#suiana's sinners #suiana's secret lover #yandere #tw yandere #yandere x reader #yandere drabbles #yandere imagines #yandere scenarios #yandere concept #yandere rental boyfriend #yandere rental boyfriend x reader #suiana rambling #suiana brainrotting

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nexadarling · 9 months ago

Text

Trigun Explicit Recs!

So it turns out there are too many good fics in this fandom and I maxed out the amount of links allowed in a single post (it's 100 btw) so I decided to split the E rated stuff from everything else, cause it makes sense to me.

I offer you my list of smut, organized by wordcount! Most of which will also give you so many emotions cause what is Vashwood with out self-loathing and biblical references. This is a living document and I update it regularly, so come check back for more recs!!

I tried to tag all the authors who have tumblrs, but if I missed someone pls tag them/let me know!

Any fic that features "+" after the word count is on-going/uncompleted, and they are all listed at the end. As they finish, I will add the final word count and place them accordingly.

Check the tags yall!!!

a softer world by Harubo ( @helloharubo) - 2k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU; Painter Vash; Doctor Wolfwood; Reincarnation vibes; Wolfwood has regular dreams of Vash where he's covered in scars and full of a deep, aching sadness. When he wakes up, he needs his husband to reassure him he's still in one piece

not dying, then by amaiyo - 2k; Vashwood; E; Tristamp (I think? iirc); Plant Heat; Vash goes into heat and Wolfwood does his best to help, but man is he kinda lost; this is so fucking good, Vash is such a mess, and honestly so is Wolfwood but he's just trying to keep up, poor guy

Ask Without Speaking by ChenamaReel - 2k; Vashwood; E; Trimax; Wolfwood comes to Vash's room to wake him from a nightmare, and stays. Halfway through the night they both wake up to a very compromising position; Listen I've read this an embarrassing amount of times, the feelings packed into this tiny fic are amazing and it's really hot okay????

la petite mort by @babeyxiao-art and expertfool - 3k; Vashwood; E; Trimax; Vash and Wolfwood get drunk and argue in an alley. A threat turns into… something much different; this did something to my brain chemistry for sure, I fully blame it for my newly found gun kink

My Body's Moving Into Retrograde by Sacramental_Wine - 3k; Vashwood; E; Wolfwood makes Vash want something for himself for once

you'll leave me lonely at best by @procrastinating-bookworm - 3k; Vashwood; E; Post-Badlands Rumble; You know the fucking drill, it's time for some widow Wolfwood reunion sex; God I love the way this fandom explores the hell Wolfwood went through before Vash pops back up like "Jk guys, I'm not dead!"

Heat Waves by @revenantpoet - 3k; Vashwood; E; Tristamp; Vash is having more regular plant heats because of Wolfwood. Wolfwood helps him out (in the car lol) and tries really hard not to think about the fact that he triggers such a reaction from Vash; I like my smut with a side of angst and Vashwood brand repression! This is that exactly, and it's really fucking hot. Blowing so many loving kisses at Rev for this

when your stitch comes loose by @starkillling - 4k; Vashwood; E; Vashwood's relationship with Vash's wings

Your Beauty Never, Ever Scared Me by Sacramental_Wine - 5k; Vashwood; E; Wolf shifter Wolfwood (if you've ever seen Wolf's Rain it's like that); Vash helps an injured wolf, the next morning a man shows up at his door; no cause this is so cute Vash is so baffled at first by Wolfwood’s appearance I love them so much???

Strange Powers by @tenshinokorin - 5k; Vashwood; E; they accidentally get high and fuck about it; I laughed my ass off reading this, pls, it's so good

when I picture you by @pinklicour - 5k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU - College; This is just a silly little fic about Vashwood hooking up, but Wolfwood's pining is so precious and I've reread the scene where they actually become a couple several times cause it makes me so happy; Mack always keeps me so well feed with all the cutesy vw concepts

Little Pieces of the Nothing that Fall by starkstateofmind - 5k; Vashwood; E; Tristamp; it rains and Vash manic pixie dream girls himself into bed with Wolfwood; i kinda stared at a wall for a little after reading this, it's really beautiful and I might also be a manic pixie dream girl

Sing Pretty Melodies on the Motel Bed by @amphetamine-keen - 5k; Vashwood; E; Trimax vibes; Wolfwood convinces Vash to try a vaginal plug; this is just smut but I did read it at least twice. idk what that says about me, but it does say that it's a good fic. And that I have a new toy I need to buy– ANYWAY

fire, nicotine, and iron by quietfaun - 5k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU; Dirtbag Wolfwood, cause it's a weakness I have; Vash gets Wolfwood shot and feels really bad about it. After all, he was really just picking up a stranger for a good night, he wasn't looking to get pulled into Vash's world; Wolfwood is so fucking nasty in this and I am exactly as into it as Vash is, lord help me

Sing, Sweet Salvation by Bohemienne - 5k; Vashwood; E; Trimax/98; Vash ignores his feelings for Wolfwood just a little too long, and his body decides to Do Something about it. It gets... monster-y; You I'm a sucker for some creature Vash and some monsterfuckery!! Hell yeah

Nothing but Neon by just_a_lil_shipmate - 5k; Vashwood, E; Trimax/98; Vash and Wolfwood go to bed like normal--totally normal, nothing wrong with sharing a bed with your friend no matter how much Vash wants it to be more. Vash wakes up with Wolfwood hard against him and maybe gets a little carried away; I fully blame this fic for me liking somno, but it just manages to be the right amount of soft and hot

what you need by amaiyo - 6k; Vashwood; E; sequel to Not Dying, Then; Vash wants to make up for falling asleep after Wolfwood helped him the first time with his heat; Bottom Wolfwood supremacy!! Man gets his shit wrecked, physically and emotionally

disarm you with a smile by gloriousporpoise - 6k; Vashwood; E; Canon-verse; Friends With Benefits; 5+1; It gets harder and harder for Wolfwood not to kiss Vash; You will--and I mean you will--spend this entire fic chanting 'kiss him! kiss him! kiss him!' and be disappointed when he doesn't despite knowing it doesn't happen until the clearly labelled +1 scene

welcome to the beautiful place by @pinklicour - 7k; Vashwood; E; Vash watches Wolfwood interact with a kid for too long and has Feelings about it, turns out Wolfwood feels the same; biting them, shaking them like dog toys, let them have a family goddammit

Nothing Left to Hide by GGumdrops - 7k; Vashwood; E; Wing fic wing fic wing fic; Vash is clearly uncomfortable but doesn't want to tell Wolfwood why. When he finally convinces Vash to show him, he preens his wings for him

in other words by riverenne - 7k; Vashwood; E; Tristamp; Triple-amputee Vash; Unsurprisingly, Vash and Wolfwood are running, and Wolfwood learns a lot about the whirlwind that is Vash; listeeeennnn they're so desperate for each other

when you've laid your hands upon me by amaiyo - 7k; Vashwood; E; Vash gets feverish and delirious, and Wolfwood wants so badly to help. It's not until he's really out of it that Vash realizes what's happening: a heat that can only be triggered by intense emotion linked to an individual; Vash loves Wolfwood so much it sends him into heat and he's so worried about driving Wolfwood off but he needs him so bad

you tear down my reason by halfdemonvash - 8k; Vashwood; E; .... trimaxVashwood/stampedeVashwood; yeah it's selfcest, i'm not sorry about it, it's so fucking good

Bind Your Faith in Scars and Tape by just_a_lil_shipmate - 8k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU - College; Vash pines after Wolfwood, and then properly falls for him when they're forced to spend time in the university greenhouse regularly; Meryl is my favorite

perfect world by outdoorcats - 8k; Vashwood; E; sequel to Water Supply; less drunk but more (beautifully) emotional; "What if we ran away and got married" vibes

bad moon rising by crocodile - 8k; Vashwood; E; Urban Fantasy AU; Vampire Vash; Werewolf Wolfwood; Hunter Wolfwood; T4T; The author describes this as slice of life between vampire and vampire hunter and like yeah that's exactly what this is and it fucks

water supply by outdoorcats - 9k; Vashwood; E; they get wine drunk and get like emotionally horny; this is so fucking beautiful they’re so in love I hate it here

Holding My Breath by @nekotachis - 9k; Vashwood; E; Canon-verse; Vash tells Wolfwood he's never been on a date, so Wolfwood takes him on one. Feelings are definitely not had during said date

the perfectest herald of joy by riverenne - 9k; Vashwood; E; Tristamp; Vash has a lot of self-soothing habits that drive Wolfwood absolutely insane; I am so unwell about how River writes Wolfwood for real

Dark evil ocean, I’m craving more by Albedothighs - 9k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU - Mer; OrcaWood; Human Vash; Vash and Wolfwood work together so Vash can temporarily be a mer, that way they can be together when storms would otherwise keep them apart. Of course, instead they have a lot of fun exploring Vash's new body together

Trial and error by Anonymous - 10k; Vashwood; E; Vash has freaky plant parts and is pretty sure he can't orgasm, but he's happy to be with Wolfwood however he wants! Wolfwood is determined to prove Vash wrong; Literally cannot get enough of unconventional, incompatible plant stuff for Vash, so this was very fun

like the holding of hands (like the breaking of glass) by @flowercitti - 10k; Vashwood; E; Tristamp; Vash wakes up after the sandsteamer and faces Wolfwood's full knowledge of his inhumanness; (spoilers WW still thinks Vash is beautiful)

Where The Delicate Stops (Show Me) by @nexadarling - 10k; Vashwood; E; Trimax; Creature Vash; Predator/Prey; Wolfwood sets off Vash's competitive nature and gets chased through the woods. He likes it more than expected; shameless self-plug, I'm just real proud of this one

corsetry, couture, and how (not) to court your coworker by Umbr_el_on - 10k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU - Fashion; Fashion Designer Wolfwood; Model Vash; Wolfwood chooses Vash to debut his new creation, and he really does try so very hard to be professional about it; oooohh boy what a way for Vash to realize he has a huge thing for breathplay, damn

geoplant medicinals by @avoidingavoidance - 11k; Vashwood; E; Tristamp; Wolfwood accidentally gets soooo fucking high. Vash joins him and they have some frankly awesome sex; Wolfwood spends this whole fic being sickeningly in love with his boyfriend and thinking about how pretty Vash is and I love it

the sun is warm (i miss your smile) by mor (mornin) ( @bakubaji) - 12k; Vashwood; E; Vamp Vash/Vamp Hunter Wolfwood; Modern AU

with the same sweet shock of when Adam first came by feelingfoxylmao - 12k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU - BDSM Scene; Wolfwood fucks up at the BDSM club and Vash (consensually and pre-scripted) teaches him his lesson; Dom Vash, Sub Wolfwood; Vash makes Wolfwood bark, what more could I possibly say to make you want to read this??? It's wonderful; slight secondhand embarrassment warning for the beginning where Wolfwood fucks up, but it's worth getting through, trust me

take my breaking heart (and tear it all apart) by johnnyfucksup - 12k; Vashwood; E; Wolfwood tries not to let himself want. Enter Vash, who ruins those plans

Late Night Confessional by ValiantRose ( @sleepyartcryptid) - 12k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU I think?; Trans Wolfwood; Priest Wolfwood; Vash comes to confess his sins... he technically commits more instead, but who’s counting?

and our walls fall like jericho by thechaoscryptid - 12k; Vashwood; E; Canon-verse; Wolfwood doesn't want. He doesn't. He doesn't. (He does); Every time Wolfwood tries so hard and fails at keeping down his affection for Vash I lose my goddamn mind

Like Eden by @RevenantPoet - 12k; Vashwood; E; Tristamp; Vash takes Wolfwood to the bio-dome on Ship 3, and they open up to each other a little more than he was expecting; Rev's poetry is so nice and the way they handle the intimacy between these two melts my brain a little. Both the sexual and emotional

Within Us An Orchard by plumtoad - 13k; Vashwood; E; Vash is a sad plant boi, so Wolfwood cheers him up feat. fruit

to control against the pull by catchatter ( @needlab7) - 13k; Vashwood; E; A/B/O; "Wolfwood tries to help out the bro and gets consumed with The Longing"; It is my personal mission to make everyone read this. Please, even if you don't like omegaverse just give it a chance I am begging you

I know I'm gonna die of this by @orcelito - 13k; Vashwood; E; T4T; Vash doesn't like to be touched during sex. He does, however, desperately want to fuck Wolfwood. Wolfwood shows him exactly how much he appreciates it; THE Strap Fic; the fact that this is part of a series based on Nothing But Thieves' song Impossible has me incredibly fucked up; Nico, darling, thank you for writing this, it was delightful

Give Me Mercy No More. by hollyleighannee ( @wytchsbrew) - 14k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU; Bodyguard Wolfwood; During a sandstorm, Vash spends a special night with his secret boyfriend; OH MAN OH GOD WOW; first of all this Wolfwood... I gotta go sit down for a second, damn; the sex is hot, but the emotions are hotter, Wolfwood is so careful to give Vash everything he wants and cares so much, they are both so in love; Holly your fics give me so much joy, I'm so sorry for decimating your notifications

sunshower by crocodile - 14k; Vashwood; E; Reincarnation AU; Friends With Benefits; Age Gap; 500 years later, Vash finds Wolfwood... kind of; look this is so good Vash has so many feelings, but Wolfwood is his own person, but he's also definitely Wolfwood and everything is different but nothing really is and aaaaaaahhhh

resurrection men by spicecandy - 14k; Vashwood; E; Reincarnation AU; Post-Trimax; Vash has a pull to him that Wolfwood can't ignore, something that makes him hang around town much longer than he normally would. He doesn't want to examine that too much; All the little hints of memory in this that Wolfwood doesn't catch and Vash balks over are my favorite

Amarillo Sky by just_a_lil_shipmate - 15k; Vashwood; E; Cowboy/Angel AU; Vash makes Wolfwood realize maybe he's not better off alone; this fic set off my obsession with cowboy Wolfwood…

try my hardest (if you ask me to) by nbagenda - 15k; Vashwood; E; the team stays at Ship 3, and Wolfwood has Feelings about everything being so clean (and so much gay panic about Vash); this one uses he/they interchangeably for Vash which I really really love

in love with my own sins by spicecandy ( @gaycowboyjesus) - 15k; Vashwood, Vash/Vash, Wolfwood/Wolfwood; E; Trimax VW meet Tristamp VW; listen the everything between everyone is so good but the romantic tension between Tristamp VW is so cute

Gun Barrel Red Hot by varelsen ( @cloudstrifing) - 17k; Vashwood; E; plant heat plant heat plant heat plant hea-; Wolfwood notices Vash is gone and goes to check on him. Naturally, he gets way more than he expected and lets go of some feelings in the process. Vash… maybe makes a little mistake about that later; eating this whole, just absolutely devouring it

Long Goodbyes by ChenamaReel - 17k; Vashwood; E; Trimax; After the Arc and before the orphanage, Vash and Wolfwood talk about the what-ifs of the future. With the knowledge of their respective missions, their normal flirting banter turns to something more real; crying sobbing, shoving this in your face

waking up in vegas by kae_karo - 17k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU; They wake up married to each other in Vegas after a night they barely remember. They try to track down the chapel they got married in, but kinda don't wanna undo it by the end of the day; listen this is just so cute they’re so into each otheeerrrr

if you were church (I’d get on my knees) by iokanaan - 18k; Vashwood; E; T4T; Actual Priest Wolfwood, feat. trimax Vashwood as guardian angels (I have no excuse for this one but it goes really hard)

so i'll sing to the grave (put you back together) by desertblooms - 18k; Vashwood; E; Canon-verse; Wolfwood doesn't feel worthy to touch Vash, so Vash shows him that's not true

you'll never get enough by tagteamme ( @phaltu) - 19k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU - Boxer/Gym; Wolfwood owns a gym that is under Nai's thumb, Vash is a regular at the gym and should be off limits; I have read this at least twice and it occasionally haunts my dreams

just a holy fool by @avoidingavoidance - 19k; Vashwood; E; Tristamp; Wolfwood is so upset about how much of a soft spot he has for Vash and Vash somehow makes it worse all the time always; sure Wolfwood, we all believe that you're annoyed with Vash and not stupidly in love with him

a kind heart to haunt by littleghost ( @ghostlandtoo) - 20k; Vashwood; E; Cowboy/Western AU; Wolfwood is an outlaw, Vash left that life a long time ago and doesn't want to get wrapped up in it again

laughter lines by @beesinspades - 21k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU; Ace Vash; Grey Ace Wolfwood; Knives sends Wolfwood to bring Vash back to him. Vash doesn't want to go. Wolfwood kind of doesn't want to make him; crying go read this i love it so much all of Bee's stuff brings me such joy

i’m here in search of your glory (there’s been a million before me) by @sascake - 22k; Vashwood; E; Post-Trimax fix it feat. Wolfwood's entire orphanage

I'd Get Rid of the Sun in Favor of the Moonshine by FlowerFed - 22k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU - Coffeeshop/Cafe; Milly asks Vash to vouch for her ex so he can get a job at the same cafe as him, Vash meets a handsome stranger at the beach; surely there is no connection between these events…; (spoiler, there totally is and they’re super cute)

a tide of tender mercies by @gloriousporpoise - 23k; Vashwood; E; Wolfwood and Vash are on the run after July, chasing bounties; Wolfwood finds himself in a bad way without his serum and gets taken care of (ha, take that, WW!); I'm a sucker for Wolfwood pining hopelessly after Vash and this is just the perfect mix of pining and his snark

sun comin' up by amaiyo - 23k; Vashwood; E; Mermaid AU; Modern AU; Wolfwood is a priest assigned to a tiny island, and sometimes he stands on the pier at night to listen to the strange songs on the ocean wind; Vash is just uncanny enough in this to sate my need for creature Vash, and they’re just so gone on each other

today, and all of the days by @pushclouds - 24k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU; Vash owns a donut shop, Wolfwood owns a smoke shop/bar; Vash doesn't realize they're definitely dating; pls Vash spends the whole time being like “ah yes a business partnership” meanwhile Wolfwood is like… just trying to go on dates with his boyfriend? They’re so fucking stupid

Wanna be your sin, I wanna be a preacher by oh_imintrouble - 24k; Vashwood; E; Trans Vash; Modern AU; Dirtbag Wolfwood tbh; Vash is on the run from Knives and meets Wolfwood, who takes care (and takes care) of him when he's attacked and helps him run; Look okay, Wolfwood is so gross in this, like objectively, I don't think he's ever not been high on something and his mattress is on the floor, he carries a hammer for fuck's sake, just to bash people's heads in, but damn if I wouldn't do some questionable shit for a shot with him

Ascension Day by farseersfool ( @birdadjacent) - 26k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU (but still Plant powers); Wolfwood is a hitman hired by Nai to protect Vash. Surely keeping his mark as close as physically possible is only the logical thing to do. Right? Right.

stop me if you've heard this all before by molotovhappyhour - 27k; Vashwood; E; Canon Divergence; Time Traveler Vash; but only in like small increments; Vash has Rules to avoid trouble with his power. Wolfwood makes him want to break... maybe all of them; Eating this whole, shoving it into my mouth; The way Wolfwood is handled here and how his backstory is changed makes me crazy, I love it

Deep Cuts by megumiblues - 27k; Vashwood; E; Tristamp; Trans Vash; Vash is used to carrying many monikers. El Diablo, Humanoid Typhoon, the things he is called are never good. Wolfwood seems to see him differently for some reason; Get understood and cared for, idiot; Love a touch-starved VW

dance in our catastrophe by @pushclouds - 28k; Vashwood; E; Post-Trimax fix it; Wolfwood and Vash are stuck in a safe house together, what could possibly go wrong?!; Wolfwood's inner monologue in this is so delightful and sad, they (definitely totally platonically) cuddle to keep the Horrors away, and there is at least one (1) playfight that Wolfwood has to end in a panic cause he gets horny about it

The Lord Won’t Forgive Me (But My Angel Will) by natumn - 28k; Vashwood; E; Eriks Vash ❤️; Two years after July, Wolfwood drunkenly stumbles right into Eriks and Lena, and they take him home so he can recover. He stays with them for a while, but Vash never could run from the EoM forever; Eriks feels always fuck me up, I love making Wolfwood face his desire for domesticity, and Lena is perfect and precious

four suns by Joelene - 31k; Vashwood; E; Trimax Vashwood and Tristamp Vashwood meet in the middle of the desert!!; This is genuinely very cute as well as hot, I reread this immediately after finishing it lol; Trimax Vashwood being competitive and then getting lost in themselves is so precious; Wolfwood begging will always be my downfall; They all fuck, but they don't fuck each other. Like each version Vashwood stays together. They do all make out with their own alternative versions, so do with that what you will I guess

you're a canary (i'm a coal mine) by PotatoButt ( @rubyredgh0st) - 32k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU; Zoo keeper Vash; Orphanage Worker Wolfwood; Wolfwood brings his kids to see the tomas show, but sometimes he comes alone to watch the cute handler; Brad is so protective here I love him actually

Amazing Grace by jjAfterHours - 33k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU- Ranch; Rancher Wolfwood; Livestock Vet Vash; When Wolfwood calls his normal vet, they tell him she's out of town, but they can send a replacement. Wolfwood kinda maybe finds every excuse to get him back on the ranch; Once again my favorite flavor of VW!!! Wolfwood is fucking in it, and Vash is trying and failing to hold him at arm's length

Angiosperm by somarysueme - 33k; Vashwood (background and later chapter Polygun); E; Post-Trimax; Wolfwood is brought back with some fun... extras, courtesy of the Plants. He and Vash now also have regular... heats? Mating seasons? There are eggs involved; Look okay, hear me out! If you don't like the idea of oviposition, maybe skip this one?? But if you do.... It's Egg Time

blood in the badlands by eviscerates - 34k; Vashwood; E; Vampire Vash/Vampire Hunter Wolfwood on NML; the Eye of Michael is a hunter group, Wolfwood is not supposed to have feelings for Vash

I'm not a Psycho (I'm Just Trying to Get Laid) by @inkfishie - 34k; Vashwood; E; Tristamp; Various times Vash and Wolfwood have... encounters. Feat. Vash's emotions and awkwardness; this is so cuteeee

At the Top of the World by Insomniac_with_dreams - 35k; Vashwood; E; Cowboy AU; Wolfwood follows a help-wanted ad and finds himself at the Saverem ranch for the summer. He gets... more than he bargained for; God above please read this it's so beautiful and heartfelt and wonderful and they love each other so much fuck

CAUSE OF DEATH (See instructions and examples) by neatrogenous ( @floofyfluff) - 39k; Vashwood; E; Post-Trimax fix it, but Vash runs faster than the Flash from every single Emotion he's ever had (body horror cw for the first chapter)

i think that we should go and get you out of here by molotovhappyhour - 39k; Vashwood; E; Exorcist Wolfwood AU; Wolfwood travels to July to help rid them of a haunting that's taken root there for years, Vash is, of course, at the center of it; the writing in this is so beautiful and haunting and perfectly disorienting during the spookier parts it’s so good

inter paradisum et infernum by itsacoup - 39k; Vashwood; E; Wild West AU; Preacher Wolfwood; Outlaw Vash; Wolfwood takes protecting his flock very seriously, and when Vash rolls into town, he is determined to do just that. Damn if Vash being so attractive and such a match for him doesn't make that difficult though; The way canon elements of their story and background are mixed into the world-building of this is so delicious; They really are drawn to each other in every life

Saturdays at 6 p.m. by maginot - 42k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU; Vash reaches out to professional Dom Wolfwood to ask if he's taking on new subs. Wolfwood realizes he's fucked as soon as Vash walks through his front door; Okay yes this is kinky in the sense that it is an actual, structured BDSM relationship, but it's actually not the kinkiest thing on here??? It is absolutely delightfully spicy and sweet though. And watching Wolfwood fall apart about actually falling for Vash is so fucking GOOD; also vash's pain kink has me on the fucking floor dear god

sugar rush by corvidcaper ( @not-miss-marple) - 42k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU; Vash owns a candy shop; Friends with benefits to lovers; Everyone knows they’re dating except the two of them, and goddamn does Wolfwood try to keep it casual; Spoiler, it is anything but casual lol

in the woods somewhere by halfdemonvash - 42k; Vashwood; E; Fantasy AU; cottagecore; Vash finds Wolfwood injured in his forest and takes him to his home to nurse him back to health. Wolfwood... kinda really loves it. Even if he wasn't entirely there on accident

giving in to your fever touch by honeyseeking ( @sweetyuris) - 46k; Vashwood; E; Trimax/98; Wolfwood finds Vash as Eriks and gives him three days to make up his mind; *violently shaking this fic* it's so full of emotions

Pillow Talk by fantasy_stupid - 47k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU; Nai sends Wolfwood to secretly trail Vash and make sure he's safe while Nai is gone. Vash clocks him immediately and they try to make the best of it; bodyguard Wolfwood you have my heart and soul

by the time the apocalypse began by everythingeverything (yiqie) ( @englishsub) - 50k; Vashwood; E; Sci-fi AU; Spaceship Mechanic Wolfwood; Wolfwood's crew picks up what they think is a distress signal and follow it to it's source; I really can't do this fic justice with a summary without spoilers but like!!! Vash and Wolfwood stuck on a planet together!!! I love them!!!!!!!

The Lighthouse by EloFromMars - 51k; Vashwood; E; Lighthouse guy Wolfwood; Eldritch Horror Vash; legitimate lovecraftian level eldritch horror but like.... Vash is still a baby girl and Wolfwood is still into it; honorary mention for Kuroneko

Citronella by @canyondotcom - 58k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU; Vampire AU; Creature Vash; Woodworker Wolfwood; Wolfwood wakes up in the middle of the night to something--no, someone on his porch. Against his better judgment, he lets them in... Things get... Interesting; Uuggggghhhhh God this is so good I love creature Vash and the vampire lore is so unique and non-traditional I love it so much

song of solomon 4:7 by ellisisntreal - 68k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU; Trans Vash; A cute new neighbor moves in across from Wolfwood, one who he quickly realizes is the hottest DILF ever and exactly his type; listen. LISTEN! This is so good, Vash's kid is 13, so he's old enough to be funny and snarky, Vash and Wolfwood's banter is amazing, and scenes with all three of them (and eventually Livio) are actually so funny I was wheezing. Idk how you write dialog so real and hilarious, but I had a grand fucking time

Strawberries & Cigarettes by Umbr_el_on - 71k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU - Tattoo shop/Flower shop; "No, seriously, Livio, it's just casual, it doesn't mean anything, stop"; several days later: *calls Livio crying about how much Vash makes him feel*; and that's it that's the fic; I like that they're both broken and fucked up here, and they make mistakes and piss each other off, but they continue to choose to try together. It just makes me really happy. They aren't perfect but they're perfect together

A Step By Step Guide to Love and Peace, Written by Vash Saverem (Co-Authored by Friends, Family, and Nicholas D. Wolfwood) by calandos - 71k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU - Fleabag; Trans Vash; Priest Wolfwood; It's fucking.... it's a fleabag AU idk how much harder I can sell this I clicked immediately when I saw the tag; yeah, it has the confession scene; this made me want to cry. I may have actually cried; god I relate to Vash so much

someone to last your whole life by catchatter ( @needlab7) - 73k; Vashwood; E; Post-Trimax fix it, with deep attention to the realities of mourning and what it means to have mourned someone who is no longer dead; genuinely one of the most beautiful things I have ever read

Trillium and Ivy by @shastafirecracker - 80k; Vashwood; E; Modern AU; Funeral Director Wolfwood; Garden Center Vash; Wolfwood works at a funeral home across from the garden center, and notices the cute co-owner; this one is a personal favorite it makes me feel insane if I think about it too long

Someone's hand opens (I hold it) by tytonidae - 80k; Vashwood; E; Post-Trimax Alternate Timeline; Wolfwood and the girls don't meet Vash until long after the events of Trimax; the world building 🤌🏽 the bonding 🤌🏽 the EoM lore 🤌🏽

Wildflowers by @shastafirecracker - 103k; Vashwood; E; Dark Fantasy AU; cottagecore; Trans Wolfwood; Wolfwood is sent to kill the Beast Lord of the forest and gets far more than he bargained for; dear fucking God please read this holy shit I cannot overstate how good the world building is

How Easy You Are To Need by @nexadarling - 10k+; Vashwood; E; Plant Heat; Vash goes into heat when he's in the middle of the desert with Wolfwood. He really does try so hard to keep him from finding out

Daylily by @needlesknives (bakusboi) - 10k+; Vashwood; E; Modern AU - Tattoo shop; Vash comes to Wolfwood wanting to get his scarring covered with tattoos, Wolfwood realizes this project entails a lot more than he anticipated. In several ways

honeysuckle red by @beelzebby666 - 43k+; Vashwood; E; Modern AU; Line Cook Wolfwood (yes it's important shut up); A one night stand turns into Wolfwood spending so much time with Vash and his fucking garden (why does he like bees so much I love him????); Wolfwood just wants to be kept. He just wants to be kept!!!

la vache! by @skittidyne - 28k+; Vashwood; E; Modern AU - Sex Work; Sex Worker Vash; Trans Vash; Wolfwood needs to learn French very quickly since he promised Livio he would and then procrastinated till the last moment. He finds his solution in Vash's... unique way of teaching (it might involve dildos); I'm rabid over the fact there are not more chapters of this

save a horse by ofxanadu - 37k+; Vashwood; E; Western AU; Trans Vash; Wolfwood saves Vash from getting mugged by the Bad Lads Gang and has a night so memorable he's hung up on it for almost a year when Vash shows up again; i cannot even put into words my thoughts on this fic I'm just making feral sounds about how much I love it

If you know me no you don't!

Come tell me your opinions about all of these my DMs are open I promise

#trigun #vash the stampede #wolfwood #vash #trigun stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #trigun maximum #trimax #vashwood #fanfic #AUs #Trans Vash #Trans Wolfwood #T4T vashwood #fic rec

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